Hermione Snape: The Perpetual Potion
by eternallost
Summary: Hermoine knows that something has gone wrong with her potion but she does not know that it will alter the progression of her life and her Professor's, beginning with her 5th year at Hogwarts. Fits with the course of the movies and ties in Lily. Rated M for chapters to come.
1. Chapter 0: Revealing

She had always felt more confidence in her casting abilities than her appearance. Her skin was speckled with goose bumps. She did not know if it was from the winter chill, or the anticipation she felt. It was the night of the Yule Ball during her fourth year at Hogwarts. She ran a hand through her curls, feeling that she had bested her hair in the ongoing battle for beauty. Her dress held the reminiscence of peonies that grew outside of her non-wizarding household. It further maintained that otherworldly aura, being less traditional than the chorus of dress robes that she saw many of her classmates purchase in Diagon Alley. The sound of her heals on the stone floor was foreign as she hastily headed to met with the first date of her young life, Viktor Krum.

Severus Snape, distancing himself from chaperoning the event as much as possible, caught a glimpse of the girl in pale violet and pink in the castle hall. What was it with girls and their resemblance to flowers? Was it their desire to be such, or did nature simply intend for it to happen? As he watched her glide steadily forward, he smirked when he recalled how he had halted the assault from Weasley and Potter in the dining hall. He recollected their mockery towards the girl and the indignation he felt as he empathized at being an outcast, the last resort in a dance that would be worth nothing, years into the future. As soon as the red-haired boy had gathered the gall to ask, Severus had pulled back his sleeves and gave the youngsters a refresher course on manners. He raised a charcoal eyebrow as the girl, with the once frizzy hair and rabbit-like teeth, had said that she had gotten a date. Was it a farce meant to sting her cruel friends? His mind soon came back to her lonesome form in the corridor.

He decided to investigate. He was a teacher, after all. "Do you have a reason to be walking the halls so late, Miss Granger?" Was that make-up on her visage, or had his advancement caused her to flush?

"You must know Professor Snape, tonight is the dance; as you can see." She gestured to her outfit to further the point. As if the movement of her hands had permitted him, his gaze lingered on her lithe frame, draped in pastels. Abruptly, his dark eyes came back up to examine hers.

"Indeed." He allowed. "And yet, where is your date?"

He could practically see the magic energy well within her. "He is waiting for me in the Great Hall." Her eyes shifted back and forth, indignantly holding his gaze.

"Very well, then." He stepped aside.

He watched her start forward, her shoulders hunched. "Honestly, I would expect these comments from Ron." she mumbled to herself. There was that stubborn Gryffindor spirit.

An arm swiftly appeared before her, connecting to the castle wall and blocking her path.

"Do you place me at the same level of intelligence as that Weasley boy?" Snape loomed above her.

"I do not, Sir." She spoke tersely.

Perhaps she was cunning in her obedience after all. He began to move his arm away.

"However, the level of sensitivity appears to be poignantly familiar." She noted as she brushed past him.

With that quip, he was unsure whether to add points to her house, or to take them away.

She strode confidently onward. As he watched her turn the corner at the top of the stairwell, her smile grew. It was as if he and her worries had dissolved into the background. There in the empty hallway, Snape knew that the honor of her first reveal was not to her friends nor to her date; it was to himself. That was something that he would hold on to.


	2. Chapter 1

She thought that she was wise beyond her years; he wanted to show her otherwise. Expose her. He wanted to bend her over his knee like the child she was. Sitting at his desk in the Potion's Room, Snape attempted to snap himself out of thoughts about the curly haired girl who was often wedged between Potter and Weasley. Frequently he thought, what an odd place for her to be. Then again, where else should she be? Using a feather quill he scribbled notes on parchment. There was a knock at the dungeon door. "Come." He commanded. He looked up to see her hazel eyes. "Miss Granger." He noted coldly and returned to writing, "I assume there is good reason for this interruption." He waited for a response. After hesitation, he looked up again to see her peach face turning pale and her eyes rolling back in her head. He quickly stood up and cast a spell to catch her before she hit the stone floor. "What on Earth-" he started but then realized- this was a potions matter. This girl had been messing around again. No doubt for the benefit of the two nitwits. She was smart enough to note that something had gone wrong and had come to him for advice. He'd give her some when she woke up, that was for certain. He laid her down on the wooden table and spoke "lumos" so that he could examine what she had done to her body. He looked at her pale face. "Poison?" He thought, "Or perhaps something's still caught in her throat." His fingers brushed her lips. It felt like satin, though he did not know why he noted the texture. He propped open her mouth to look inside. There was nothing there. Sans for a smooth pink tongue. He let go of her at that point and stepped back. He had to remain detached and assess the situation. He didn't know why his mind would dwell in all the wrong places. All of his life this was so. Mainly it was the Dark Arts. Now, the sensation felt the same but the subject was different. He recalled the feeling of her lips. Weren't they warm for such a pale person? Then, an advanced potion came to mind. If she had done it wrong, her whole body would be heating up right about now. He took a step towards her and placed a hand over her skin. It felt like a radiator. He knew what would come next, though he was not prepared for the ramifications. She would be waking up any moment now and the first person she saw; he couldn't let it be him. He hid behind a column as he heard her sharp inhalation. She was awake again at least. She sputtered a bit and questioned meekly, "Professor Snape?" He felt a little twinge at the awkward situation she was placing both of them in. Gryffindor would lose some points for this one. "Miss Granger." He retorted.

"Where are you?" She queried and he could hear her weight shifting off of the table.

"Stay where you are Miss Granger. I don't know why you were attempting a potion of that level, but I assure you that your house can thank you for the large amount of points lost that will be coming your way." He could hear her feet on the floor. "_Stay where you are_." he commanded.

"-Why professor?" He could hear the worry pitching in her voice.

"Because you mixed the potion wrong. You made a different one." he attempted to clarify.

"Why should that affect my placement?" she asked.

"You always have a why, don't you Miss Granger? Perhaps we should ask _before_ we embark on things of this nature." his words were biting.

She swallowed. "Please sir. You're making me nervous. It will be alright, won't it?"

"You're the know it all here Miss Granger. So think about it. Think of all the other possible potions that could have been made by incorrectly making the one you attempted. Recall your symptoms and there's your answer."

She closed her eyes and ran through lines of text in her mind. There, she spotted it. "Love Potion." She whispered in disbelief. She felt her face flush from embarrassment.

"See, you don't need me after all." His voice echoed off the walls. "So head back to your quarters and find yourself a cure."

"Professor Snape!" She panicked, "I can't go out in the hallway! The first person I see-"

"I know." He replied. Then the idea came to mind. This was a teachable moment. A rare smile crept onto his face. "The only other option is having someone who knows what they're doing help you."

Hermione paused. Then said, "Will you help me professor? That's the reason I came tonight in the first place."

"Can't Potter or Weasley help you?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"They wouldn't really know, or have the experience to handle this situation." She was getting flustered.

"Very well Miss Granger, but perhaps you will learn that to your actions there are consequences. Next time, think of them before your rash Gryffindor spirit gets the best of you."


	3. Chapter 2

"On the count of three I'll step out from behind this column. Try to restrain yourself." He stated.

She resisted a laugh at the thought of herself pouncing on Professor Snape. How absurd. "Yes sir." She replied.

"One-" She steadied her feet on the floor. "Two-" She clenched her fists and released them at her sides. "Three-" She took in a breath. As soon as he walked out, she felt the wind knocked out of her. The room was spinning and he was the only thing in focus. Did he always have such elegant looking hands? She tried to shake it off.

'Come on Hermione,' she thought, 'This is a professor here. Professor _Snape_.' But as soon as she thought his name she felt something like a sugar rush. Her heart was beating faster. She wanted to touch him. He must be so lonely.

"Hermione-" she heard him say sweetly. That was not possible! He never called students by their first name. Let alone anyone! Her eyelids were getting heavy and various parts of her seemed to dampen. What an odd physiological response.

This was delightful, thought Professor Snape. He could see her dopey expression, then a serious one would flicker across her face as she was trying to fight the effects of the drug. Then it would fade into pleasure again. He decided to mess with her a little. "Hermione." He said softly. He wasn't expecting the excessive response to that. This was one powerful potion from the looks of it. It was going to be a long and interesting evening. But, at least he would be entertained. And the girl would be safe with him, wouldn't she? This ought to teach her to think twice before messing around.

Suddenly, her hands touched his face. 'It will be alright.' He thought, 'As long as I don't touch her, the activity shouldn't escalate.' Then, she brought those satin lips up to his. It was a sensation he couldn't recall the last time he had felt. He stepped back and kept his arms crossed at his chest. She adamantly moved forward. He forgot he was dealing with a Gryffindor. She pulled her lips up to his again, yet this time he felt her smooth tongue press against his. Now his cheeks were feeling a bit warm. He moved again and sat down behind his desk. He cleared his throat, "Miss Granger, have a seat and compose yourself."

She looked back at him longingly, "I like it when you call me Hermione." She said in a tone far too grown up for her youthful face.

His mind turned off for a second as he wondered if he had taken the drug as well.

"Hermione." He stated, and watched as the mere mention of her name sent the girl seeking release. Power was something Severus had sought early on in life, and here it was in the form of a girl. It would be hard to resist. He watched as she moved around the desk to stand by his chair. He looked up at her admiring face gleaming down at him, lips slightly parted and seeking more than he should offer.

"I said have a seat." He said coldly. She took one on his lap. Sensors went off in Snape's mind. She was way too close. The only way he would allow someone that close was at his command. He decided to use his hands due to the thought that any defensive spells right now might shock her system. He grabbed her by the wrists.

"My lap is not a seat. I will send you back to your dorm if you cannot follow my instruction." He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She nodded and stepped back. "Good." He noted. She flashed him a smile. What an odd experience. She didn't smile often in class. When she did she looked like… No she didn't. No one ever could. But, he wanted to make her smile again. He brushed a curl from her forehead to behind her ear. What a beautiful face. Seemingly out of nowhere, she brought her lips up again. Why did she have to taste so sweet? He turned his head. "Stop. Hermione. Please." He whispered. If this went any further he wouldn't be able to stop himself.


	4. Chapter 3

All she could see was the exquisite pained expression that appeared on his face each time she brushed his translucent skin. It made her seek more. That black hair that many had called grimy was smooth and glistened like feathers. It filled her hands. She pushed a lock of it behind his ear only to see it fall back onto his high cheekbones that framed his face. With his dark hair, eyes like coal rimmed with a light purple and prominent nose he seemed like some elegant bird. She felt as if she were messing with nature by touching something so rare. She feared that he might fly away if she played too much. Suddenly, she felt a calloused hand in her curls. It was as if the strands of hair were strings on her heart. The movement sent shivers down her spine. Her mouth curled upwards. When she opened her eyes, she could see him looking deep within hers, searching for something. Her heart dropped when she realized it wasn't her he was seeing. She would make him see her. She was here now and she would make her presence known. She held his square jaw and met her lips with his, letting him taste what she had to offer. Then he pulled away and his expression shifted from hurt to the blank serious face she had seen daily in class. "Stop. Hermione. Please."

Her heart told her no but her mind still held the mentality of the good student that she was. Abruptly, recall came bubbling up within her. Starting in her stomach ending with a lump in her throat. That was right, she was feeling the effects of a love potion and exacting its actions on Professor Snape. She placed herself on her hands and knees and stared hard at the floor in confusion and embarrassment. Tears welled up in her eyes. Now she was the one searching for something that wasn't there. An escape.

Severus had come to realize too that the potion was wearing off and the girl before him was ashamed. Who wouldn't be, she had kissed _him_, after all. But, he had taught her. That was what he sought out to accomplish. Correct? He decided to start the conversation. "I believe you are better now, Miss Granger?" Her face was stilled turned to the ground.

She could hear his question though she didn't know how to respond. She had just done something way out of line. Worse yet, she had done something she couldn't inform Ron or Harry of. This secret- who knew how long it would eat at her for. She cursed herself for making such a stupid mistake. As she despaired, she remembered the feeling of his rough lips on hers and her heart beat faster. Was she still feeling the effects? She looked up at her professor just to make sure. He was staring blankly back at her, just like he always had. At least he wasn't effected…

Her doe eyes confused him. What was she seeking? Reprimand? Something else? He couldn't place his mind on it and this confounded him. He could understand logic and potions, but emotions- they frustrated him. So he took the easy way out, as he often had. "Back to your dorm Miss Granger." She flinched out of a daze. "Now!" He commanded. She was up on her feet running for the door. Before he blinked, she was gone. Along with all of the warmth in the room.


	5. Chapter 4

She ran with her heart pounding in her ears. Her first kiss! Taken by a professor! Professor _Snape_! Why did she feel slightly giddy about all of this? Or was she nauseous from repulsion? She sputtered into the Gryffindor common room as she saw Harry and Ron lounging on the couch by the fireplace.

"Bloody hell Hermione! Where have you been?" Ron questioned. "Look at her nose Harry! It's like Rudolf!"

Harry chuckled at the comment, "It does. Why do you look so flushed Hermione?" He asked with a hint of concern. Then he stiffened, "Is something wrong?"

Hermione shook her head vehemently "No. Nothing's wrong. Just out for a late night run. That's all." She cleared her throat. "G'night, then." She said before she dashed to her bedroom.

"G'night, then." The boys said in unison.

"Something fishy there." Ron said with a scrunched up expression. Harry nodded. Both of their eyes were set on her bedroom door.

He wasn't a virgin in any sense of the word, but there was something about her innocent face wrapped in yearning that left him with a similar feeling of unknowing in his stomach. He had identified for a long time what his future held, laid out like a monopoly board before him since the death of the red haired girl he once watched from the bushes. He was bound by Dumbledore, and bound by the green ghost of Lily in Potter's eyes. There was only one way, there had always been one way and twinge of the dark mark on his forearm was a constant reminder. Yet, auburn eyes found him and offered a welcome break in the droning monotony. Finally some entertainment had appeared in this prison of a school. Sometimes he didn't know if he was keeper of the dungeons or the dungeons kept him.

Sleep often eluded him, and that night was no exception. Morning came and again it was time for the students to file into the potions room. He wondered, as his coal colored eyes scanned the room, whether the bushy haired girl would raise her hand quite as often today. Or, would she try to cover her mishap by spouting more mindless book facts? The image that came to mind brought a sneer to Snape's face. Harry and Ron caught it and looked at each other in discontent.

Ron whispered, "You reckon he's got something more wrenched than Gurdyroots in store for us today?"

Harry responded silently, "Good thing Hermione caught that cold after all." Ron gulped and nodded.

"_Juvenile_." Snape thought, "Don't they know how to cast muflatio if they don't want to be heard?" Then he realized what he had just overheard. The girl rarely missed a chance to recite her scraps of knowledge, what had happened last night? The potion she generated certainly had chances of side effects, nothing too severe. He tapped his fingers on the desk in thought, as he listed possible outcomes. The students took this as a gesture for silence. He looked down to them with the constant mask-like expression, shifting focus, "Let us begin."

Hermione was not physically sick, though her stomach felt like she was falling. There was guilt. She had always tried to be a perfect student, maybe she felt like she had something to prove coming from the muggle world. She was proud of being a witch and of the praise that came from many of her teachers at Hogwarts. Only one professor throughout her schooling here had not come to offer any words of academic reinforcement. She had made out with him last night. Her face plunged into the infirmary ward pillow at the thought. It was the only way she could receive a legitimate escape from classes that day. She had entered with a potions injury complaint, which wasn't really a lie. She didn't know why, maybe the potion altered her memories but it felt good to think about it. Was this the form of commendation that she had been seeking? She couldn't move. She couldn't go to that potions class again, not after such a mistake. Wasn't there some other teacher? The light was fading outside. Hermione lay on her stomach, staring over the pillow at the hues of the clouds shifting from pink and purple in the sunset. The stars were starting to peek out and the smell turkey was wafting in from the hallway. It was dinnertime. She heard Madam Pomfrey speaking to someone in the background. It would be time to go soon. Then she heard the voice speak back and she recognized its deep eloquence. Her professor. She squeezed the pillow. And here she was in her nightgown! She heard his boots echoing on the castle floor towards her bedside.

He spoke, "You aren't one to play sick, Miss Granger. Madam Pomfrey said that she could find no signs of illness with you. Yet, this is my area of expertise. Shall I check you?" Her face flushed. There was no way that she could turn to face him.

"Miss Granger, are you feigning sleep now as well?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. She rolled over to reveal a guilty, vulnerable face. He decided to prod some more. "Come now, let me look at you." He gestured for her to sit up. She complied. He sat beside her and felt at her lymph nodes. Goosebumps rose beneath his fingers. Was this an adverse reaction? He had only wanted her to admit her falsity, though he did not know why he felt driven to do so. Maybe it was because he was living a lie and he wanted someone else to divulge a dark truth, something he would never be capable of. Or maybe, he wanted her to build on her lies and sink to the depths where he existed. No, even if she were tarnished, that Gryffindor spirit would let her shine like the gold on the emblem. It was no wonder that black was a Slytherin color, much like the souls of many of its members. Whenever someone in the dark sees a glimmering light, they can't help but reach for it. He began to covet that glow, with Lily. He pulled his hands back into the darkness.

"You're fine, Miss Granger. As expected." He said in a monotone voice.

She looked at the floor, "You were just playing with me. You knew I was fine."

She said with consternation. He couldn't help but smirk.

"Your punishment for skipping class." Abruptly, he got up from the bed." I expect to see you tomorrow." He said in a teacher's tone.

"But, professor, there are no classes on Saturday." She responded.

"Always citing the facts." He retorted with a shadow of a smile on his face, "But, this is for detention." With that, he turned on the heel of his boot, his coat following behind him as he walked out of the infirmary, leaving her bereft.


	6. Chapter 5

Hermione never had a hint of detention in her life, yet here she was standing in front of the dungeon door. She didn't notice how long she was inspecting the woodwork before she heard a voice from inside.

"Enter." Her professor commanded. She obeyed.

Snape examined the slight feminine frame of the figure before him, illuminated from behind by the candle light in the hallway. When had she grown? She looked at the cauldron on the long table at the front of the room, a variety of ingredients splayed to each side. Before being told what to do, fear of the possibility began to grow in her stomach.

"You will correctly generate the potion that you so miserably failed at the other night." He directed. She swallowed, she was right. Visuals and sensations of that _failure _came to mind for the instant that she looked into her professor's eyes. No emotion betrayed his face. She looked at the stone floor.

"Sir, I'm not…"

"I will accept no excuses related to Weasley or Potter." He interjected.

She looked back at him, perturbed. "I was just trying to help a friend."

He came towards her. "Does your _friend _have trouble with occlumency?"

Hermione fought back any sign of emotion. Her professor knew that she was trying to aid Harry in his training sessions by giving him a potion to shield his mind from intrusion.

Snape continued as he paced around her. "The mind is quite an easy thing to control, and its intentions can be very separate from the heart, or other parts of the body." He paused. "When you attempt to control the functions of the mind, there are various states. Rather than preventing intrusion, your potion permitted it. It permitted the thought of the very first person you saw to pervade it so strongly that it could be felt all throughout your body. Could it not, miss Granger?"

"Y-yes, sir." She stammered, forcing herself to prevent recalling that night's events.

"Yes." He affirmed. "So, you admit that you don't believe he's capable of developing the skills to prevent my intrusion into his thoughts?

"No!" She shouted, "he just looked so tired…" She could see his drained face and limp body climbing back to the Gryffindor tower.

"Do you find yourself more competent?" He questioned and before she had a chance to think of a reply, he was within her mind. Wave after wave of image flew before her eyes and she could feel him examining each one. Surprising to her, they were all of professor Snape. First she watched his robes flowing in a determined stride in the hallway, then he was making a potion change color, the image switched to him holding a wand with a proper stance sending sparks of green at a snake, Soon he was chiding her and suddenly his lips were on hers. She forced him out and took a step back. He seemed confused at first as well, and then he came to an answer.

"A side-effect of the potion," he said almost to himself, "It caused me to pervade your mind so much that when I perform occlumency it will only reveal thoughts of me…"

She was startled at first, "will this occur for everyone who tries it on me?"

"No." He stated confidently. "It requires my touch."


	7. Chapter 6

Snape had been silent in thought, thinking of possible uses for this concoction. Granger's blunder may have actually created a new potion. He wished he could be so lucky with all of Longbottom's mistakes. But, as useful as it may be in his endeavors with Voldemort, his stomach couldn't help but flip at the very thought of what that would be like- another Bellatrix. He flinched at the notion. Hermoine noticed the exaggerated sneer on her Professor's face, thinking it was in response to his intrusion.

"Those memories trouble me as well, sir." She said with her face scrunched, looking awkwardly aside.

"Conceited girl," The side of his mouth upturned, "not all of my physiological responses are about you."

She looked at him, at first confused, then a bit abashed for thinking so. Was that the flicker of a smile?

"Change of plans." He broke the silence, "God forbid we have another one of those potions floating around the castle. Instead, I will guide you in making the appropriate occlumency-shielding potion and you will tell me where you so surreptitiously screwed up." She winced. "Then," he persisted, "we will continue to have training sessions to see whether or not these effects are lasting and if they can be altered."

The Hermione a few days ago would protest, but now the idea of additional time with her Professor seemed to stir up feelings akin to excitement. It was odd. But in that anticipation was a tinge of fear, exactly how long would these effects last? Were her feelings gradually escalating due to the potion? Either way, Professor Snape's probing was the only foreseeable answer.

"Come." He instructed as he glided over to the table with the cauldron and ingredients. "I assume you have memorized the chapter, show me what to do." She followed and picked up the wormwood. He observed. She placed it into the pot and set a low flame. Then, she proceeded to pull the petals from the asphodel and dropped them in as well. She measured and stirred in the appropriate amount of elixir when she moved on to chopping hemlock roots.

"Stop!" He interrupted and she froze. He came up behind her. "You are doing it much too roughly, there are bits flying everywhere." He placed his hand over hers on the knife and demonstrated the smooth fluid motion. "Gently, as to not damage the vascular cambium." As he spoke, she could feel the vibrato on her back from his words breathed in her hair. She did not know Snape could be associated with gentle. The closeness was causing something to pool within and beneath her waist. He had prompted her hand over hand for the rest of the potion until it was a silvery, swirling substance.

Hermione then noted a difference in execution. "The book said to use something of the person that was trying to penetrate your mind so that it would be reflected back at them. How come we didn't add anything?"

Her Professor looked perplexed and then the answer came to him. "You read the oldest book on the subject, because you thought it would yield the best results?"

She nodded, "I have found the methods of older books to be tried and true, since they are closer to the roots of magic."

"I have bad news for you." He smirked, "The book that you chose was in the restricted section of the library, was it not?" Her face appeared frightened at being found out. "Admonishable. 30 points from Gryffindor." He chided, just because it was so fun to tease her, and to show her in fact how much she did not know. How foolish acts of bravery would get her nowhere. "This book was used secretly by witches. It is written in codes, using one spell for another that could not be done during a time of repression. I would suggest not attempting anything else from that book because what you see, is not what you will get." After reaching that conclusion he had another question to ask. He shifted his stance to one of accusation, "Now, what did you take of mine, and how did you get it?"

She balked. He continued, "I recall how you seemed to purposefully bump into me by the doorway on the way out of class the other day."

"I-it was your hair, I saw a strand on your robe pocket. It would have fallen off anyway. Please, I apologize for that." Her eyes were round and the light seemed to find new places to reflect within them.

What did he care about a strand of hair, really? It was so unimportant that her concern was laughable. But, her expression made him seek more. "You really are a naughty girl, aren't you Miss Granger," Oh yes, he was going to make a list, "going into the restricted section." She closed her eyes, "_stealing_ from a Professor," her body cringed, "and-" he was curious about the response to this one, "making out with a Head of House."

She opened her eyes and they both stared at each other. Really, he thought she would have run crying out of the dungeon like so many of his students. The crimson bloomed across her cheeks like a field of peonies. They both seemed to be expecting something, but for the life of him he couldn't figure it out. He hadn't been equipped with the right experience. So he resorted to what he did know, "Another 30 points from Gryffindor. And this detention is over, Miss Granger, you are dismissed." He turned and his robes followed. As he approached the door to his room, he could feel her eyes upon him.

He glanced back at her still form. "I do not presume you would like to come in for a spot of tea." He said derisively. Her eyes seemed to brighten at the possibility of invitation. "That was sarcasm, Miss Granger. I already bade you good day, and I shall say it again. Now, leave before I take all of your house points." He said bitingly. That seemed to get the point across, she nodded and left swiftly without a word. He stood absentmindedly watching the door from which she had left for a while before entering his chambers.


	8. Chapter 7

The time had come for one of their training sessions. Meanwhile Snape had been upholding his promise by training Potter to the best of his ability. He had to admit, the boy was something of a failure. He was curious to see how Hermione faired and whether the potion would continue to stake its claim over her mind during his occlumency. It had been about a week, and the girl had stuck to her usual school routines. However, she did not raise her hand as much to recite blocks of text. Perhaps she had learned the value of experience. Without that constant interruption, he had found her presence more enjoyable in class. He glanced at the clock. She was late, and he did not like to be kept waiting.

At first he thought she had lost track of time. Then he remembered whom he was dealing with and grew something similar to concerned for the girl. Just as he exited the room to find and berate her, he caught her limping and bracing herself against the wall towards the dungeon. His anger abandoned him and he rushed towards her to offer an arm. She looked up at him shyly. Her didn't wait for her reply and decidedly swept her up and set her down on a potion table. He closed and charmed the door. He knew who was responsible. "Let me see your feet." He instructed. She hesitated until his dark eyes met hers and she held one out. "Umbridge." He said under his breath noting the burn marks around her heals. "She said I needed to be more ladylike and made me wear these stupid burning pumps." Hermione was strong, but he could hear the tears building from indignation. "I tried to be here on time-"

Snape interrupted, "As you would have been if that toad hadn't-"

Hermione laughed as a tear streaked down her cheek.

"What's so funny?" Snape queried.

"You called her a toad." She smiled.

"You're right," Snape responded, "that would be insulting to amphibians."

Hermione laughed again and her tears seemed to be drying.

Snape admired seeing this new perspective before speaking, "I'll get the dittany. And I assure you, you're already womanly."

He returned with the salve and helped apply it to her wounds. "Do you, really think so?" He heard Hermione ask meekly.

Snape felt uneasy, why had he been so open towards this girl? That always led to bad things. He needed to cover his tracks. "I'm just pointing out that the punishment was inappropriate and unwarranted."

Hermione could see the visible change in his demeanor; he was stolid and almost mechanical in his actions. He had closed a door and she wanted it open again. He was kneeling by her feet; packing up the ditanny while one free hand was on the table. She grasped it gently and when his eyes met hers she smiled warmly, "Thank you."

He nodded curtly and stood up. Now towering over her, he felt he had returned to his usual self. "Well Miss Granger, we should not waste a perfectly good evening of practice. Are you ready?"

They were at it for what seemed like hours. She tried to think of anything but Severus Snape but the memories felt as if they were attracted to his hand. Then something new, he began to view one of the fantasies she had about the Potion's Master. They were in the supply room, and he barely got a glimpse at it before her mind became a smooth surface. They were both back in their respective heads.

"That did not happen, Miss Granger." He said with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"No, sir." She blushed.

"But, you would like it to?" He questioned.

Either way it was a trap. "No, sir." She repeated, casting her eyes away from his examining glare.

"Look at me Miss Granger." He commanded and she obeyed. "Then, why would it be on your mind?"

The silence was broken by an announcement by Umbridge throughout the castle. "Hem, hem, attention students, it is now curfew and anyone seen roaming the halls with or without an escort will be punished accordingly. That is all, nighty night."

Hermione's jaw dropped in panic and she started speaking quickly, "I can't get back! It'll be ten times worse than those heels! What do I do?"

Snape put a hand over his mouth and chin in thought. This was certainly an awkward predicament; he thought he had gotten used to that with working under Dumbledore. He listened to Hermione rattle on for a while before barely stating, "Miss Granger, there is a couch."

"Couch?" She sounded confused. He couldn't let her go out after she had come in damaged by the deranged defense against the dark arts teacher. Gods.

"Yes. Under these extreme circumstances it is a viable solution. That is unless you prefer your chances in the halls." Hermione blushed. Snape swallowed. He needed to maintain control to help her feel safe. Perhaps professor mode was best. "You and I have no choice in the matter, and don't believe that I enjoy this anymore than you do."


	9. Chapter 8

She could hardly feel the pain in her heels due to the words of her Professor catalyzing a rush of blood through her veins; she could hear it echoing in her ears. Hermione did not dare risk going out in the halls, and there was no way that she could make a dash for the Gryffindor tower in her condition. There was no Harry with a magic cloak to hide her, no Ron to make light of the unnerving situation. Her eyes sought reassurance in the Potion Master's, yet they offered no hints.

She swallowed as she decided on a course of action, "If you will allow it, sir." She said in a dry voice. Was she correct? Would she be punished for her assumptions?

He did not appear glad; he did not seem angry, simply indifferent with a light sneer on his face. Years of wearing the expression had worn a line between his brows and beside his thin lips. "I'll show you to your 'room' then." He replied and began walking to the wooden door she had seen him stop at so many days ago. He turned again, "Just to make things perfectly clear, this is not occurring for any reason other than dire circumstances. I do not _favor_ you Miss Granger, in fact I have persistently found you quite the annoyance."

She bristled. Good, that was a reaction he was used to.

He continued, "You are not to touch anything without my permission, and you are not to tell anyone of this night. Do you understand?"

She nodded, curiosity overriding her frustration. He spoke a password under his breath, so low that she could not hear. The door swung open and he strode inside a dark room, steeped in the soft glow of candlelight. She felt cemented to the safety of the floor she had known and walked for many years. "You can sleep on the dungeon tables if you like." Came his deep voice from inside the chambers. She glanced at their hard, cool surfaces and contemplated the action before acknowledging how unforgiving they would be. She decided to take a chance, and inched forward into Professor Snape's chambers.

The air seemed to change, along with the typical feeling of oppressiveness. It smelled of cedar and shoe polish, unusually clean and masculine. She could smell flames and looked to her right to see them crackling in a vast fireplace. 'Her' Slytherin-colored couch was in front of it, seemingly long enough to fit three people, though she doubted that her Professor entertained. It seemed comfortable enough. While he was in the bathroom, she couldn't help but glance around. There were no frames on the walls, and everything was kept rather tidy. Bookshelves held a vast supply of magical knowledge. And there in the middle was his king sized bed with plush sheets to match the décor of the couch. Beside the bed there was a book with something like a page marker sticking out of the middle. Questioning what topics piqued her Professor's interests, she looked at the binding for a title yet there was none. She decided to pick it up to open to the cover page, when something small and white and fragile fell to the floor.

"Did you not hear my rules or did you just chose not to abide by them?" Snape's accusing voice was in her ear. She nearly dropped the book, but put it quickly back on the bedside table. She turned and was caught between his body and the bed. He bent over to pick up the object, a pressed flower, was it- a lily? He placed in the table drawer.

She could go off of that to distract him, "I just wanted to see what you seemed to be researching. By chance, does it have anything to do with the magical properties of flowers?" Her voice was shaking.

He chuckled at first, which grew into a dark laugh. Looks like she made the wrong choice. He held up the book, "This, _Miss Granger_, is a novel on the illegal uses of unicorn blood throughout history." A pause. "But, since you are so interested in other topics," He tossed the hardback aside, landing with a thud, pages splayed. "Yes." He continued. "_Flowers_ are _very _magical things." He was pressing towards her and she tried to step back, but her body was against the frame of the bed. "Very beautiful, intoxicating, fleeting. They bud, they bloom and they die. Yet, that is their purpose." She sensed that he wasn't talking about a garden. "You can nurture them all you want, but as soon as a single virulent spore takes hold, there is no hope." There was a torrent of emotions seeping out of a face that was often a blank canvas. It was disconcerting. "They wilt, they wither, they turn to dust, and you struggle to remember how stunning they _truly_ were in vivacity…" Her elbows were bent to hold her up and her back was arched over the edge of the bed.

On the bed, his hands where outside of hers and his face was very close. He was breathing heavily and fighting to place all of those images, those feelings in the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart where they would always remain as he had promised.

Hermione's face was riddled with fear and other emotions he didn't wish to decipher. He stood up and took a step back, taking the time to straighten his robes. She was able to stand now, but her knees were weak. It was a girl. He was talking about a girl, someone he must have loved or deeply cared for. She felt it couldn't be a family member, not with his passionate speech. Perhaps most important of all, she had been gone from the world for some time now, but the pain was fresh and tangible. She cautiously reached out for his upper arm, fingers shaking.

He could feel her warm palm, and flinched at her touch. He looked at her in anger and confusion. He was dealing with a Gryffindor; so he could easily read her expression. That witch knew. She had the gift of intuition, but how much did she know? He wasn't comfortable with letting someone other than Dumbledore in on his little secret.

"Speak, Granger." He commanded.

"I'm sorry, Professor." She warbled, "I'm sorry for your loss." A hot tear was trailing down her cheek, inciting the fury within him.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing tightly, "Why are you crying, and what do you know of my loss? What do you know of my sacrifices? I don't need your assuming, self-righteous pity!" His yell trailed into a choked voice.

Her dewy auburn eyes looked at him with unwavering concern and indignation. "You're right, I don't know." She acknowledged. "But, perhaps, I would like to."

He let her arms drop. There was stifling silence. "It appears to be my turn to apologize, Miss Granger." He strained. She nodded in acceptance. Snape clarified, "Yet, I do not wish to examine this subject any further tonight."

"I understand." Her voice was growing more composed.

No matter how much he would have liked to have been the mean old Potion's Master and send her fleeing for safety, they were stuck in this arrangement for the night. He would have to make her feel at ease somehow. She seemed to have the same notion and spoke up, "I like a cup of tea before bed," He didn't know from where she drew strength, "would you care to join me on the sofa? We could watch the fire."

The corner of his mouth upturned, "Asking me if I would like to sit on my own furniture? I most assuredly will oblige." He stated mockingly. She smiled meekly. "And, I take mine black."


	10. Chapter 9

To eliminate the option of delving into any more unwanted conversation, Snape surreptitiously added a drop of dreamless sleep to the girl's tea. Before drifting off he heard her mumble something to the like of, "I'm glad I got to know a little more about you, Professor."

Was he glad? He was unsure of how to feel, especially when he had put on such a show of vulnerability to an adolescent, his student. He did not have much fluency in trust, and he certainly could not place it in her young mind. Ignorance was bliss. That was why decided continuing down the same path would lead to ruin for both him and the girl. He had to end their training sessions, stop exploring her mind and treat her as he would any other scholar. That was right he told himself, she was no different. As he was sipping his tea he could feel pressure on his left shoulder. She had fallen asleep on his arm. He cast a glance down at her youthful face, eyelids heavy, full lips slightly parted. 'If she were a flower,' he thought, 'she would merely be a bud.' Nevertheless, he could not deny the promise of the woman to come. He let her lie there as he stared into the embers of the fire, the light in the room fading, until he had finished his tea.

"-Granger." A familiar voice echoed in her ears. "Miss Granger." It became more of a command. Her eyelids fluttered open to see her Professor standing over her in black robes with brass buttons. Her eyes became wider as she recalled where she was, but she couldn't remember falling asleep. "Welcome to the world of the living." He continued, "It is almost time for breakfast. You will inform your friends that you spent the night in the library due to Umbridge's meddling decree. Go quickly to the dining hall, I have made sure that no one is in sight." For some reason she felt a knot in her stomach, it was as if she had just gotten here, just been given a glimpse of something other than the sneering persona, and she didn't want to be another member of the classroom where that was all she would know. "Go _now_." He instructed. She did so, noting that her feet where fully recovered.

"Thank you, for last night." She smiled briefly and exited before he could respond that there would be no more.

As time went on, Hermione realized that she could never again be like her classmates in seeing the 'greasy git' as Ron would put it. Although he had ended every furtive meeting between them in her fifth year, much to her chagrin, she continued to hear of Harry's progression in occulumency. They were sitting at the dinner table when he shared the tale of entering Snape's memories. Hermione nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. 'Lily-' she thought, 'Harry's mother?' While Ron and Harry were exchanging words about it, she couldn't help but glance up at the teacher's table.

Snape could feel eyes boring into him. He cast a scornful look in the general direction, noting Hermione's flushed face speckled with distress and knowing. 'Oh, good,' he thought as he returned to examining his plate. 'Potter has shared with the world what a _hero_ his father was.' But, what was that awareness in her eyes?

From that point on, the boys noted extra precaution when mentioning Snape around Hermione. She would throw in a 'Professor' or add a reason as to why circumstances may not appear to be what they were. During the late summer, after the downfall of Dolores Umbridge, discovery of the prophecy, and loss of loved ones came a darkness that seemed to be closing in on the group of three. Harry and Dumbledore were out collecting Horace Slughorn whilst Ron and Hermione were having a talk of the usual suspects at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. He was growing tired of her attention to detail and blurted without much thought, "What, do you have a crush on the dungeon bat?" He was too busy elbowing her and laughing to examine her response. Her face flushed and she swallowed hard, she thought of a typical response, "How could anyone have a crush on a professor? Even if they were less grimy, it would be uncouth."

"Uncouth indeed, Miss Granger." came a deep, venomous voice from the stairwell outside of the doorway. Her heart raced and she stood up from her seat on the floor at his entrance. Ron shuffled to his feet as well. "Not that you will be of any help, but I have an important message to convey to Headmaster Dumbledore. When will he return?" His voice was acid. She didn't know one person could make her feel so cold. She felt positively horrible and ashamed of herself for trying to fit Ron's stupid idea of a normal person. She couldn't bring herself to respond and pulled at the hem of her shirt. Ron was never one to talk in front of his favorite professor, so he stayed silent as well. 'Speak up!' Hermione thought desperately. Snape glided forward, "No one? Very well then, I shall await his arrival downstairs." He turned keeping his hand on the doorframe. "And do keep your hormones to yourselves."

After he disappeared, Hermione's stomach flipped. Ron was scratching the back of his head as he chuckled, "Sorry 'Mione." She wanted to hit him.

Night had fallen and Ron was asleep in the bedroom he shared with Harry, pending his return. Hermione crept softly down the stairs hoping to get a glass of milk before bed. Many things worried her, and sleep did not come as easy as it did to the boy who had trained himself to do so amid the snores of several brothers and sisters. She was in her nightgown as she saw Professor Snape leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. "A cup of tea before bed?" He sneered, letting her know that he had information gathered on the girl.

"A cup of milk, actually." She responded humbly. Should she approach him in apology? How could she meet the needs of the man known as Severus Snape when she didn't know what they were? She took a step forward. His body tensed. She stayed and spoke gently, "I did not mean what I said earlier." He twitched. "No, I mean, not that I have a crush on you or anything," She continued, "but, you are not a grimy man. I was just trying to throw Ron off."

Some tension appeared to leave Snape's body. "Now, why would you want to do that?"

Hermione caught the curiosity in her Professor's dark eyes. "I really don't have an answer for that." She stated genuinely.

"So, Miss Granger, what do you think of me?" Snape took a step forward.

She stood her ground and closed her eyes to envision all of the things she had thought about her Professor. "You are a clean and masculine man, though your outward appearance may not always suggest such things. You are cunning, intelligent, self-sufficient and trustworthy."

"Trustworthy?" He took another step towards her, nearly bridging the gap between them. He put a rough hand up to her throat. "Here I am in the dark with my hand wrapped around the neck of a girl in her nightgown. Does that suggest such a description?"

She fevered at the feeling of his large, elegant hand completely encasing her. He hadn't known the various daydreams she had acted out whilst in and out of his class, although, this one was new. "Yes." She replied slightly choked. "Because I know you."

Wordlessly, he pressed her lithe body against the wall, one hand at her neck and the other on her shoulder. "You know nothing." He spat silently. He could feel the blood pulsing hard through her carotid artery, if this was due to fear, why did her face not show it? She either belonged in Slytherin or, this girl was enjoying it. Her skin was soft, her hair hung loosely over his hands and she gazed up at him with something akin to wanting. The little bud was beginning to unfurl. That look echoed the one he had seen when this all began. The one that had made him ache to explore her further. If he stood there any longer, his hands would begin to move on their own. He yearned to show her how little she knew, about many things. Astuteness intact, he smoothly let her go. "And I will not have you begging me to know, either."


	11. Chapter 10

It wasn't long before the new term had begun had Hogwarts. Although she kept her eyes and ears open for Harry and Ron, she had her own interest to pursue and his name was Professor Snape. No longer in charge of Potions now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a position she could tell he had pride in assuming. Her world was changing, and this was another symbol of how the safety of her routine was crumbling around her. Ever the Gryffindor, she kept steadfast and strong while accepting and trying to understand the differences that were arising within and around her. She had to admit, there was a time when she had butterflies for her red-headed friend, but that felt like a childhood crush now due to the passion resounding from what she liked to think were more adult encounters with her Professor. The fantasy about the potion's storage closet would have to go now; she wondered what new ones would arise from D.A.D.A. Sometimes, it was nice pretending to be a simple schoolgirl unaware of the war outside.

Perhaps within the first class Hermione could spot what kind of man Horace Slughorn was. Sure, he was knowledgeable and friendly. Anyone who met him might assume he was a Hufflepuff if they didn't investigate further. But he was a trophy collector, the kind of man who would ignore someone if they didn't catch the light quite right. She made sure to polish herself as to keep on his good side since she knew Harry was already within his graces. Her heart went out to Ron.

Soon it was time for the first D.A.D.A class of the year. As in Potion's, her Professor stood solemnly in front of the class watching the students pour in with disdain on his lips as if none of them could live up to his expectations. She could feel a deep desire for approval wash over her.

"Good afternoon class." He spoke as if nothing were good about it, "Welcome to your first intelligible class on Defense Against the Dark Arts." He paced back and forward while he spoke, like a panther looking at prey. "Do I have a volunteer for a demonstration?" As always, Hermione's arm had the reflex to shoot up. Yet, she knew he wasn't accepting willing volunteers. "Mr. Jordan," he spotted a vulnerable one, "we shall start out easy. Come show the class how to defend against a leg locking curse." Before Lee Jordan could step onto the stage, Snape spoke, "_Locomotor Mortis_." Hermione noted the execution, and the way his biceps bunched and his back arched like releasing an arrow. His robes moved against the flow of his body. It took effect quickly.

"You cast it before he could approach you." Hermione stated almost as an afterthought.

Snape took it as her speaking against an injustice. "That is how dark magic will come at you Miss Granger. I believe I saw your hand before. Scratch that, I don't even have to look to know it's in the air. So, since you find yourself more suited, would you care to exhibit your skills?"

She took a breath through her nose. Her wand was ready in her hand, she knew he would cast it before she acknowledged. She barely nodded before she became locked in a dance of sparks between them. He would cast and she would counter for several seconds when he derided, "Adequate, Miss Granger." This was enough to throw her off when he sent a _Pertificus Totalus_ her way. She could feel something like ropes entwining and tightening around her body as she fell to her knees at her Professor's feet.

She looked up at him and could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. The way he was standing over her brought her a new perspective of submission, almost like she was bowing to a master. His dark eyes seem to mirror the sentiment. She began to struggle against the binding; she was embarrassed to show this face, this position for the enjoyment of the class. She could catch Harry out of the corner of her eye sending a spell in Snape's direction. He deflected it and sneered, "It appears that Mr. Potter knows how to attack like a dark wizard." The bell rang to break the silence. "Class dismissed. Get out." Snape announced. Harry and Ron were moving forward to aid their friend. "That means you. Unless you want to see me in detention for the stunt you pulled." He continued.

She noted Harry's narrowed brow and Ron's concern as they slowly retreated. "It'll be alright Hermione." They murmured before exiting.

Snape knelt down beside her on the stage. "Try to relax, Miss Granger. It gets tighter if you struggle." He stated.

"I could have if I didn't show the world how I look on my knees!" Her voice broke.

He sighed and placed a hand on her head. She began to settle under his touch, able to move her digits again.

"It should only be a matter of time now." He assured. There was a silence between them as the spell was unraveling. "I would apologize under other circumstances, yet there are some things you can only learn through experience."

She was free now, although it looked like he didn't quite know it yet. Her Gryffindor nerve got a hold of her, "Experience." She stated before lunging at her Professor to place a swift kiss on his lips. "I'd like to develop that further." She took off, leaving him without comment, brushing the place where she had been with his fingertips.

'So you can stun without a spell.' He thought briefly.

…

Time was moving forward at an alarming pace. Harry had discovered some mystery book that was allowing his effortless success in Potions. Hermione had wanted to prove to herself that she was just as capable as the author of the scribbles in the book that she had assumed was a witch. That was until she examined the writing. It was then that she realized how slow-witted the two boys she associated herself with could really be. After all, the man had written in more red ink on their papers than he ever had on hers. Shouldn't they recognize the handwriting of Severus Snape? She would let them discover that one on their own. Yet this recognition for her cemented how truly gifted the man was and the votive candle within her only glowed brighter.

The Slug Club was one of the unfortunate side effects of her success in Potions, especially since Harry did not accompany her and Ron simply could not. She was sipping cocoa in one of the cozy arm chairs when the Professor proclaimed, "So it's decided, we shall have a dance!" She must have drifted out of the conversation, nearly choking on her hot drink. "Everyone is free to bring a partner, of any House. Miss Granger, you will tell Harry to join us, won't you?" He gave her a pudgy smile.

"Of course, sir." She smiled back weakly.

'A dance.' She thought as she was walking on her way back to the Gryffindor tower, through the empty halls. 'Who would I go with?' echoed in her mind. Suddenly, she saw the familiar black robes billowing up from the end of the hallway. She let the thought cross her mind of asking Professor Snape. When imagining his enthusiastic response, she couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity.

By this time Snape was alongside her, observing the pure adolescent giddiness. Surely it was an oddity to be seen on a normally mature and composed Miss Granger. He couldn't help but pry. "Did I miss the joke?" He queried.

She appeared startled and somewhat shy, "No, Professor. I was merely imaging what it will be like at Slughorn's ball."

His stomach turned sour. Was she about to become another scatterbrained teenager caught in the throes of pubescent conceptions of love? He didn't want the potential she had to be wasted on someone undeserving, a meaningless boy. His lips became a fine line of disapproval. Perhaps his presence would solve the problem. "Yes, I will be there as well as a faculty advisor." He stated.

He noted the brightening of her face rather than the fear or dissent he had anticipated. "Oh." She smiled. "Will you reserve a dance for me, Professor?"

At the moment he could see no harm, "I shall keep you on my card, Miss Granger."


	12. Chapter 11

She could recall the intense look of direction given to her in contrasting accompaniment to the pudgy smile. Professor Slughorn wanted Harry for his ball. However, his frequent meetings with Dumbledore made such an event nearly impossible. Plus, if she had brought it up with Harry it would mean discussing it with Ron and for some reason she didn't feel like seeing him at the dance. Was it because her Professor of interest would get the wrong idea? The prospect was likely and it almost felt like she had already asked him and he had surprisingly accepted. Now, Hermione was a smart girl and she was running over the implications of her developing feelings for the mystery that was Severus Snape. If it had only been a crush, she would have ditched the idea long ago, or at least decided not to act upon it. Yet, she was drawn to him with a curiosity and desire that caused her stomach to turn at night. There was unspeakable danger; she could sense it just being around the man. His guard was high and his patience with was short. Something was taking from him and leaving him with just enough vitality to function under the safety and comfort of a façade. It could be seen in the shadows around his eyes. She grasped bits of information over the years, but it felt like she was reading a book in the dark with a match that was fading. She couldn't get all of the information and with this war looming, she felt that the match would be snuffed out and she would never be able to finish the novel that could have been her favorite. Right now it was burning her fingertips.

The night had come. She did feel a bit giddy in the purple dress that Parvati had lent her. Hermione also felt Slytherin in lying when her friend had asked about the date, but not many Gryffindors would be there and they could speculate for all she cared. You could tell that the dress did not belong to her, the way that it plunged to peek at her cleavage, and hugged her in all the right places. This was a far cry from the loose fitting robes that she favored. Yet, the way that the fabric shimmered made her feel that for a night she could be a princess from the muggle stories. The girls had helped her with her hair and makeup as well, adding to the effect in soft shades of plum. It was only until after she had left the tower that Ron had heard the story with the stomp of a foot.

On her way to the ball, Hermione spotted Harry spying around one of the castle corners. 'Bingo.' She thought. She grabbed him by the arm and tugged him along at her pace.

"Blimey! Just what do you think you're doing?" Harry hissed in a whisper, "I was trying to catch what Draco was up to!"

"Brilliant." said Hermione, "I know for a fact that he should be appearing at the Slug Club Ball, at least for a brief while."

Harry's sour face turned into a smile. "Oh." He said.

Hermione pointed her wand in his direction, "You'll need some proper attire." She spoke with a spell. Suddenly, his clothes were shifting into fine wizard's dress robes.

"Thanks again, Hermione." Harry said as he put an arm around his friend's shoulder, entering the ball.

"Ah!" They were greeted by a round, jovial Slughorn, "Hermione has brought a special guest tonight! My two star pupils, together!" He raised a glass merrily. Eyes were upon them.

Hermione and Harry exchanged surprised glances and his arm dropped swiftly. They both laughed at the awkwardness. She could feel one pair of eyes in particular boring into her.

Snape certainly had not expected this. First it was the redhead and now Potter? _Potter_? Sure she was dedicated to her friends but wasn't there a line between dedication and decency? His robes whipped up as he curled one arm around the other. He kept watch over the adolescents from a spot on the wall near a large stained glass window. This flower of his, he noticed, was beginning to show its petals.

As soon as Harry had let go of her arm, Slughorn's arm was on his, off to parade him around to the various attendees. Hermione gave him a glance of sympathy. Then, her eyes came to the direction where she had felt the intensity before. There was Severus Snape, looking almost like a disgruntled teenager at a high school dance from one of the 80's movies her mother had shown her. She cautiously walked in his direction, chatting with others along the way as to not be so obvious in her intentions. Soon her back came to rest against the same stone wall as his. He did not look at her; she did not look at him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Hermione questioned.

"I can't recall the sentiment." replied Snape to the air, "Perhaps you and Potter are getting along famously?"

Hermione's head jerked in his direction, a look of abrupt confusion on her face. What emotion was there a hint of in that sentence her Professor had just spoken? Was it jealousy or teacherly concern? Was she just hoping? Her head swiveled forward as she stated, "He's not my date, if that's what you're asking." She could see him merely swallow as she glimpsed up at him. He glanced down at her and their eyes met as he slowly held out a rough hand. Her small hand seemed swallowed in his as a new song was beginning, a waltz.

His hand fit well on the small of her back while hers was reaching; just a little, to go over his shoulder. His other hand held hers elegantly. He seemed regal in his movements. His robes were nicer than those she had seen in class, the buttons were golden and so was the trim around his collar and cuffs. Everything else of course, was black. She was afraid to speak, to miss a step, to breathe. He could see this in her face, and the sides of his mouth upturned. "What are you happy about?" She smiled, "I'm not the best dancer, you know." He could see her blush. The room and the people in it were a blur beyond their faces as the traveled across the floor. All seemed simple and right with their bodies lightly pressed against one another under the soft glow of candelabras, just secure enough to know that the other was there. That was until the song ended, and a pain was growing in his left forearm. Snape made an effort not to grab at the burning thing as he let go of Hermione. She did not seem too keen on the abrupt detachment.

Hermione noted her Professor's change in demeanor. His face was again covered by a pale mask.

"If you'll excuse me." He stated to her, before treading towards the door. The music flooded her ears again in slow motion. Others were already dancing, and she knew that many of them would relish in the absence of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Instructor. Nevertheless, she that knew something was wrong as her shorter strides were struggling to keep up with his longer ones.

"Professor? Professor!" She shouted, imploring him in the dim hallway.

He wrapped his hand around her wrist and tugged her into a dark stairwell. His eyes reflected the moonlight. "Hermione, I must go. Tell no one. Alert Dumbledore if I do not return." He directed. She nodded as he seemed to disapparate, the feeling of his hand still on her wrist.


	13. Chapter 12

"sSSeverus, I see that you have come dressed for the special occasion." A voice was hissing in his ear.

"Yes my lord, I came as soon as you called."

"Not quite, Severus." A wand was pressed against his throat. "Something was keeping you occupied."

He tried to speak normally, "The fool Slughorn had trapped me in one of his hedonistic displays."

"Oh, yes, a stain on the Slytherin name. A coward and traitor is such a waste of pure blood."

There was silence. Emotionless masks examined Snape, shrouded by hoods.

"I will tell you once, Severus, do not keep me waiting."

"Yes my lord, I beg your forgiveness."

The snakelike man studied Severus with a detached look in his red eyes. His wand flicked slightly with a brief movement at his wrist. No words were spoken, but the spell could be felt already coursing through his veins.

"Very well, I will be lenient on your punishment so that you can thoroughly enjoy tonight's demonstration. Don't let anyone say that I wasn't good to you."

"Thank you, my lord."

He knew this one, the curse that began with one cut and continued to multiply. It was slow spreading, but blood loss was imminent. He hoped that whatever event was occurring would end quickly so that he could correct the damage before passing out. He didn't have to wait long to notice an Auror, the father of one of his students, suffering Cruciatus. As he watched the green glow in a disconnected manner, he wondered how long that the torture would continue for them both.

…

He called her Hermione, and she was left with more questions than answers. Severus Snape had just disappeared, leaving Dumbledore as their last line of correspondence. There was something akin to pain and fear in his eyes, but it was fleeting. Where was he? Was he alright? Why did no one else care? Did Dumbledore even know or care? A hot tear fell from her eye; she caught it in her hand and examined it. This was no time to go soft. There was a high likelihood that the man she cared for was in danger and she needed to figure out how to help. She stumbled out of the stairwell into something hard yet forgiving, it smelled of storage. She took a step back to examine Ron in his old suit from the Yule Ball.

She let out a laugh, "Ron, you can get that updated now you know. We have the magic to do so." Then, she realized why he would need such an outfit. She hesitated, "Ron, you didn't want to go to Slughorn's Ball- did you?"

"Are you asking me?" He looked hopeful.

"No, I'm sorry," She shook her head, "not tonight."

"Didn't you go? You look- nice." He blushed.

She smiled at the compliment. "Thanks Ron, I did, but it's really not the place for me."

"Did your date do something?" He asked defensively.

She looked at him wide eyed, lips slightly parted.

"You know," he continued, "Parvati and Lavender were saying how handsome and dashing he was and I wanted to see for myself."

She giggled a bit. "No, really, don't worry about it."

She felt a freckled hand on her shoulder.

"I could go back in with you, if you'd like."

"Ron…"

"You know I really wish you had gone to the Yule Ball with me instead of Krum. You looked really great that night. And tonight, wow. You've grown."

She was growing uncomfortable with her best friend's advances. "Thanks Ron, but I really don't want to. There's something that I need to work on."

Another freckled hand was placed against the wall, trapping her. She looked up into his clouded cerulean eyes that were traveling her body. She felt a sort of panic at this abnormal attention.

"Mister Weasley, I assure you that the only person who needs to tell the girls of this school how much they have and have not grown is Madame Pomfrey."

She felt relief whelm in her throat and her eyes were growing moist at the familiar, harsh tone.

"10 points from Gryfinndor. Head back to your dormitory; you are not a member of this club."

"But-"

"There will be more taken for each second you waste, Weasley. Now, GO."

"I'll see you back there, 'Mione." Ron said with a shy glance before trotting back towards the Gryffindor tower.

Hermione turned in Snape's direction only to see him slump down to one knee, his robes covering him like a blanket. That announcement seemed to take all of his strength.

"I don't have much time." He stated weakly. "Get me into the Potion's Room. The dungeons are still my quarters, and it has what I will require."

She knelt readily by his side as he placed his weight on her. She struggled to aid him in standing up. She could feel something seeping through the fabric, was he sweating?

"Professor, please tell me what's going on," She tried to relay calmly as they walked, "so that I can help you properly."

He scoffed feebly, "I'm afraid you haven't read about this one in a book. It's a curse that cuts you and continues to do so in multiple locations over an allotted amount of time. My time is up."

She inhaled sharply. There was only one person she could imagine doing this and she did not want to. She couldn't examine the implications now. It was then that she realized the fluid seeping between her fingers wrapped around his waist was not sweat or water; it was his very own blood.

They arrived at the Potion's Room and Hermione was grateful that Slughorn was away. As she examined the classroom with her Professor once again inside it, she couldn't help but yearn for the innocent days when she feared the presence that she had come to love.

"I'm afraid there's no wand magic to cure this." Snape spoke, "This curse was designed specifically for me, since I know potions." He laid out several ingredients over the countertop. "Hermione, start a low fire under the cauldron."

She aided in chopping the roots and stirring the elixir until it was a deep green color and the consistency of filamentous algae. She could tell it was finished but before either of them could move forward with the process; her Professor was slumped on the castle floor, consciousness evading him. Hermione had an inkling that this was going to occur from the amount of blood loss, yet seeing it actually happen was harrowing. She took a second to breathe and think before using her wand to float him into his chambers.

"_Lumos._" She stated, in an attempt to better view her patient. She knew that she could not take him to the infirmary, or he would have gone there first. It was in her hands to finish the job he started. Yet, what should she do with the potion? Was it meant for drink or application? Think, think! She flipped the pages in her mind to the chapter on how to tell what potions are used for. The thicker ones are typically for application, and this one was certainly thick. That would mean…

She now knew why his color of choice was black, it hid the stains well. One could not tell that it was blood that was making his robes appear wet. There was no time to baulk as she peeled back the layer of clothing to reveal the liquid scarlet smeared across a body of marble. This was no ordinary man's body; this was the torso of her long term teacher. It was a man that she had grown to fear, respect and something more. She observed how his muscles stood in definition against his slim frame. Thin black hairs covered his body, sparse on his chest but thicker in areas that she did not divulge herself in inspecting. She felt almost as if she were examining a cadaver for evidence. This body was corrupted by dark magic, draining more than blood.

Her instincts took over as she took the treatment of her Professor to be something like an assignment. Perhaps he would grade her on his recovery. As she continued to smooth on the elixir, grumbles of gratification and tenderness could be heard from the back of Snape's throat. She recoiled as she approached his left forearm. There, amidst the complexion of white and mending red was the contrasting mark that held the answers. Her flat palm turned into a fist, it was ugliness in its purest form. "Why?" She asked the unconscious body, her eyes stinging. What could cause such a knowledgeable man to make such a foolish decision? Should she continue to help someone that may very well be her enemy? Should she let him know what she had seen? She swallowed back the tears as the thoughts flooded her mind. As she had stated before, he was not unwise, but should that be enough to trust him?


	14. Chapter 13

The throbbing was becoming more pronounced in his temples, time again to join the world of the living. As his eyes opened to let in a minuscule amount of light, he expected to find himself the useful condition; robes soaked with blood or muscles still twitching from unspeakable curses. However, this was not the case. In its absence was the cagey stare of one tattered Hermione Granger. As Snape opened his mouth to speak Hermione took a step back, a wand clenched in her ready hand. He could see the shades of a dried and faded crimson that clung still to her fingers. It was his. If she had treated him, he could guess why she was in a huff. Time to initiate the conversation.

"What hour is it, Miss Granger?" His voice was parched.

"It should be evening Professor." She said in a detached, professional manner, "There's water on your bedside table."

He reached for the drink with his left hand, noting the dark mark in full display. He took a sip and swallowed.

"So, you've seen it." He spoke casually. "Not only that," he continued, "but I assume that you continued to treat me after doing so. Why?" His black eyes peered into her cautious ones.

"'Why?' is a question that I have asked myself, and that I would like to ask you." she responded.

"What if I did it, Miss Granger, because _I_am the bad guy?" he said coolly.

She flinched.

He sat up, noting that he was in his nightshirt and that his cuts were mending. She had seen far too much of him for a young girl. His student had treated and changed him as if he were the child.

He leaned forward, "That's right, I have you all alone and vulnerable here in my chambers. Evidence that I'm certainly not decent in the least."

He watched her finger move up the wand.

"More to the fact," he sustained, "you will not injure me otherwise you would not have spent the night healing my wounds."

Her wand dropped as he stood up. He did not know which role to play anymore. This tired actor had worn too many masks, memorized too many lines, and gotten lost in too many plot holes. It had been years since he had last lived by impulse in the shadow of meticulous, scrutiny. He glanced at the girl whom had dawdled around him for so many short years. This courageous, once thorn in his side had nursed him. She was radiant with youth and he was draining her slowly of the innocence that he had craved to return to. No matter how much he damaged her, he wanted it all. But he had to maintain the charade.

"I'm the enemy," he breathed as his arms engulfed her. He domineered a kiss into her petal-like lips and sought to taste her fully.

He forced her to respond, her hands traveling up his midsection until she pressed him away. Her eyes gleamed with surprise and confusion. "Professor?" She flushed.

He had to keep playing the game. He told himself that this tactic would be enough to frighten the girl away from any and all connections with dark magic. As such, he would not treat her as a partner, but as his tool. He did not respond to her query, instead he brought his mouth to her throat.

"Ah!" She gasped. "Professor!"

She squirmed as he placed a large hand on her teardrop shaped breast. He couldn't look at her face. He wouldn't. It was too late to go back now. Guilt mingled with passion as pleasure began to fill within him. In continuance of his trek of her body, he began to unbutton her blouse and peel back her bra to reveal the smooth pink flesh of her nipple. He couldn't help but place his mouth around that perfect circle. He bit and swirled his tongue around until he could feel it peek. Through the rush to his head came the drowned out sounds of her delight in his actions.

He had expected to hear revulsion. The shock of this discrepancy allowed him to pull back and assess the situation. Although he said he wouldn't look, her face was strikingly amorous. The plan wasn't working. In fact, it was headed in the alternate direction. From the look on her face she would be signing up to join the dark army the next day.

"Damn it." He exhaled as he pressed a hand over his forehead and through his charcoal locks. Sense was slowly returning to him, bringing him back from the heavens and binding him to the dark from whence he came. The path that he had been traveling for so long was now obscure. What were the right decisions anymore? Where was Lily?


	15. Chapter 14

He smelled of new parchment and spearmint, the only thing he was missing was the scent of freshly mowed grass to be all that attracted her. However, that was a smell that lingered in the muggle world, a now distant part of her existence. She was 17, in her 6th year at Hogwarts and contemplating what it was that made one person adult and the other an innocent. If it was emotional turmoil, loss and battle experience then she dared to claim herself as an equal.

Everything about the man was sharp; his wit, his attitude, the angles of his face, the way he turned on a dime- the way he bit at her. In the beginning, she would do anything to keep from breaking the rules. Now, after the events of her 5th year and Dumbledore's Army, it seemed to become a habit. In the events with Harry, she could tell herself it was for the greater good. Yet, when she was lying splayed over a futon in her Professor's bedroom with her skirt revealing her periwinkle undergarments and her flesh pressed over the rim of her bra, someone had to remind her, what was it she was supposed to be doing again?

She came out of a heavenly fog when Snape had released her and withdrew into himself. This was where she still felt like a child, inexperienced and uninformed. She barely knew the man before her, the one who had introduced her to a world of lust and longing. This was the same man, the enemy with the dark mark who had taken joy in wrapping his hand around her throat and throwing her to the ground and assaulting her. Hello Hermione, shouldn't you be running and screaming by now?

There was something in the way his body hunched that transferred him from the intimidating adult image, to one of a confused adolescent, someone that she could identify with. His hand remained on his forehead in thought as she placed a hand cautiously upon his shoulder. He did not shift or look up.

"I made a promise." Snape exhumed.

She swallowed, confused by this initial remark. Curiosity egged her on, "What do you mean?"

A tortured look flashed across his pale face, as if lightening had struck. "Always, I promised to always be faithful to her."

Hermione's pulse quickened despite her logic trying desperately to beat the emotion into submission. She tried to ask, but only a meek sound escaped her throat, "Lily-"

He looked at her with eyes of shock, hurt then agitation. "Why do you know these things?" He asked coldly, returning to his strict demeanor.

"She was Harry's mother wasn't she?" Hermione spouted as tears stung at her eyes and her face was growing hot.

"She should have never _been _a Potter." Snape spat.

"What did she ever do that was so great for you?" Hermione sniveled.

He was silent, then, "She was a defender and a dear companion of mine."

"Well then," Hermione shook, "did she ever touch you like you _touched_ me just now Professor?" She looked at him intently, tears streaming down her flushed face.

No response.

"Look at me! I'm here, I'm real" Hermione hiccupped, "I'm alive…"

"Don't you dare." Snape snarled. "Get out. NOW."

"Gladly." She remarked before she turned to exit, not looking back.

Out in the quiet of the hallway she wiped her face with her sleeve and straightened her disheveled appearance with a spell. He truly was a villain.

…

She had returned to her dorms that evening, noting that Ron had a celebratory Quidditch win. She tried to act casual and join in the festivities. Yet, when she saw her friend and Lavender Brown blatantly snogging for the crowd, she nearly hurled. It wasn't fair that romance should be so easy for them. She took a walk out of the tower and down the castle stairs as she thought. How could fate be so cruel to shun her romance while shoving other's in her face? It wasn't fair. Furthermore, she felt furtive and guilty at the nature of her student-teacher relationship. What was she to Severus Snape, a plaything? If he was supposed to be so _promised_ to Lily then why had he leapt at her as if she were a piece of meat? Had those two ever known a romance for each other? It was unlikely; after all, she was married and had a son. Was this disappointment related to the mark on his arm? Did he really care that damn much? Would he always? Which came back to her, what was she?

Tears trailed her face as she tried to distract herself with something productive. She had a quiz in Charms the following day. So, she produced a flock of fluttering canaries whose melody eased her mind ever so slightly. Suddenly, she heard footsteps echoing on the staircase behind her, she turned to see the boy-who-lived. People had said that he looked like his father, but had the eyes of his mother. She had to admit that they were a nice emerald color. She bet his mum was quite the beauty, and that fact only made her spirit sink even more.

"Charms spell, just practicing." Hermione mouthed as Harry sat beside her. She began divulging her feelings until she saw Ron and giggling Lavender screeching down the hall. She could not stomach to see any normal jovial couples, not tonight. Her heart wretched. After unleashing the birds in Ron's direction she felt a little better, but her guilt came back full force at attacking the wrong guy. Harry seemed to sense her sorrow and wrapped his arms around her. She poured her heart onto her friends shoulder, telling herself that this would be the last time she would cry over Severus Snape.


	16. Chapter 15

Snow began falling flake by flake, soon amounting to a pile on the grounds that clung to the gray stone walls of the castle. It was the night of Slughorn's Christmas ball. Hermione had known that Snape would be there once more to chaperone as a member of the Slytherin house. This left her questioning how to maintain her indifference in the face of the man whom had assaulted her mind and body. It had been two months since she had last spoken to her Professor on an extracurricular basis. His was the only class she did not raise her hand in, although he often picked on her to maintain the charade that everything was as it always had been. She offered the correct answers and played his game only to reduce any suspicion upon her character. Yet, the secret memories burned at her as she was burdened with the task of reducing any and all thoughts of his touch into a tiny, sealed box at the back of her mind. She had received a peach colored pleated dress from her parents as an early Christmas gift. She slowly zipped it up as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. It was quite feminine for her, but she found that school dances and social events allowed her to show that aspect. She kept reminding herself that what she was doing was only for her enjoyment as she performed a spell to tame her hair into soft curls. She placed a brown necklace on her collarbone as she reviewed the soft complementary makeup upon her face. This was also the first time she had donned a pair of heels since Umbridge had forced her to wear the burning pumps in her fifth year. She struggled to quell the memories of that night. She needed to stop asking herself whether he would notice. She was determined not to notice him.

She met Cormac outside of the Gryffindor tower at the top of the moving stairs. He let a low whistle escape his lips as he placed his arm around Hermione's.

"Lookin' fine." He added with a greedy grin on his face.

She swallowed and nodded as she began to regret her choice of company. Although she wouldn't like to admit it, the fact that Snape would be there may have contributed to the decision to have the clingiest male at Hogwarts at her side. Not that he would be jealous or anything.

They entered the classroom through satin curtains and with a sharp intake of breath, there he was. Well, his back anyway. It was broad and he was taller than she remembered. He had his typical black robes on as well, his silky hair splayed just under his collar. She tried to list all of the bad things that she could remember to keep her from striding over in his direction to avoid any further contact from Cormac and admire Snape from a better angle. She couldn't lie, she had always been one to solve problems and the mystery that he had left her with was hard to ignore. His presence tempted her in more ways than one. She was brought out of her contemplation when she felt her date's clammy fingers on her shoulder blade. They were beginning to travel lower down her back…

She turned to face him. "Would you, could you, please get us some punch?" She asked sweetly while attempting to bat her lashes.

"Sure thing, doll. Try not to miss me while I'm away." He responded with a wink.

"I won't." She said through a fake smile as he was out of earshot.

That was when she took a dive for the sheer, golden curtains in front of the window. It was the best that she could do, for now. Harry had noticed, and he wasn't the only one. She tugged on her hair as she spoke to her friend, struggling to come up with a reason for inviting and ditching her infamous date.

"I thought it would annoy Ron the most." She voiced, as this was the lie she developed after divulging her sorrow to Harry the night that Snape had sent her packing and she unleashed canaries on her other partner in crime. It all made sense this way, sans for the fact that the only annoyance she had with Lavender was that she was as clingy and jealous as Cormac, in addition to shielding Ron from any form of female friend. Hermione's heart sped up as she hoped that Harry would not question why she would do such a thing when Ron wasn't even at Slughorn's ball. Just in case, she stuffed a few desserts in her mouth to avoid answering the query. That was when she looked to her right and saw the half-blood prince striding towards the curtain.

"God, here he comes." She exhaled as she made an effort to evade any and all romantic relations that evening. And she was doing so quite successfully.

Severus swiftly opened the curtain where he had seen Hermione hidden once again with Potter. What exactly _was _the relationship between those two? It wasn't quick before the boy that she had come in with had nearly soiled Snape's shoes. He was certainly no threat. But, why should he think of him that way?

"You've just earned yourself a month's detention, McLaggen." He sneered. The boy with the glasses was now in the periphery of his vision.

"Not so fast, Potter." He stated before relaying a message about Dumbledore. He felt like an owl, so he acted the part in ignoring the boy's final question. He strode off as he scanned the room. Where had Miss Granger disappeared to? He hadn't gotten the chance to address their awkward separation, yet he wondered if that was for the best. How did she feel? Was she as torn as he had been as a teenager parting with Lily? He hoped not, he scoffed at the dream that he could inspire such emotion. Now, things would be as they were. He was the strict professor, and she could be the adolescent that she was meant to be. However, with this war looming and the unbreakable vow, he doubted that she would be given the innocence that she truly deserved. He despised himself for stealing any form of it from her. Yet, he wondered how naïve she was before he laid hands on her. Everyone has their own idea of perfection, but what he had felt in his palm had been exquisite and caused him to question his definition. She was intoxicating, and he found it hard to believe that not one boy had at least tried… He abhorred the thought and shook it from his mind.

It was nearly time for Draco to complete his task, and he had to find the boy to reaffirm his actions. Although, he knew that the boy would and must fail according to Dumbledore. That was the thing about this school, this war; too many innocents had to be left unscathed while those who were deemed sullied had to claw their way through the muck to blaze a trail of righteous sacrifice. It was nauseating, it was Gryffindor. Except he was Slytherin, and he was trying to execute things _his_ way. He knew that if he followed the path that was not true to his nature, he would end up dead before the final battle. And he had been preparing himself to do so, until this girl kept raising her hand and reciting books and practicing unnecessary potions and kissing him so deeply it awakened him from the slumber a red-haired girl had cast on him years ago.

After seeking young Malfoy in the dimly lit hallway he found the boy and pressed him roughly against the wall for his impudence. He sought to implore him to do the job correctly, or they would both suffer. Snape knew that no one needed pity, what they needed to do was work to get out of the mess that they had dug themselves into. This was Draco's mess. Snape had only fallen into this snare because he seemed to be protecting everyone's baby from his graduating class from the clutches of the Dark Lord. That was his job, Snape the child defender. The blood sacrifice. After his rousing talk, he returned to the ball in search of distraction.

On his way back, he halted at the sight of a pair of peach colored heels abandoned on the floor. He walked towards them curiously, as he looked up to see a matching pair of feet floating limp from behind the castle beam. Within his gaze, there was a torso with a pleated skirt hanging around its waist.

"Hermione!" He choked as he treaded in her direction. What had the girl done? What had hurt her so badly that she would think to become one of the ghosts that walked the halls? Had he played a part? Was she as dense and reckless as he had been at that age? The apprehensive thoughts racing through his mind came to a stop as he could see the rest of her body behind the beam, there was no rope around her delicate pale throat. There was only a brown necklace. He tried to catch his breath and compose himself as he looked at the wide eyed girl he had snuck up on.

"What are you doing, girl?" He questioned tensely as he held out a hand to help her down from her place three feet above the stone floor.

"I was practicing levitation, Sir." She responded in a spooked manner, "I practice spells whenever I have something superfluous on my mind."

Of course she was, how could he forget himself, how could he forget her. She grasped his hand as he breathed a sigh. Hermione whispered the incantation that allowed her to lower herself gracefully to the castle floor. It was cold on her bare feet. As she looked at the discarded shoes, she imagined what it could have looked like. She glanced back up at her Professor. His eyes held fear and fretfulness. There was sweat on his brow from running in her direction. He cared. Even if it was only the amount that a teacher should care for their student, he cared. And that disarmed her. Her eyes and heart stung as she wrapped her arms around the waist of Severus Snape. She could feel his muscles recoil through her body and face pressed against his vest. She held still until his hands were carefully searching her back, his embrace grew tight and they both knew to let go.


	17. Chapter 16

Logic told her to stay away from Severus Snape but no spell could make reason override the feelings that kept arising in D.A.D.A. The mere flick of her Professor's wrist when casting a spell brought to mind the image of those adept hands on her body. It was nearing Valentine's Day and the two hadn't truly spoken since the embrace months ago in the empty hallway. In her dreams she could feel the cold stone on her feet while her face was pressed tightly against his woolen cowl. In reality, it had turned out that they parted ways with a mutual silence and a lack for understanding for why things had occurred the way they did. Hermione was determined to keep her focus on the only thing that brought constant reward, her grades. Everyone was in their own little world, Ron was canoodling his overly attached girlfriend, and Harry was brooding over something he wouldn't share but was determined to resolve. Hermione was in desperate need of distraction, without her best friends asking her for advice and tugging her into an adventure her mind was slipping into dangerous levels of fantasy and curiosity that prevailed when homework was complete.

Snape was passing out parchment with the margins filled with red quill ink. Faces of shame and indignation resounded within the crowd of pupils. He was placing a paper swiftly down upon Hermione's workspace when he brushed her hand. It felt as if a static shock had jumped between them when what could only be described as visions created by the mind of a teenage girl had flooded his brain. There they were on the demonstration table with her pink flesh spread out on his cloak. The scene ended as Snape's eyes were locked on Hermione's fearful expression.

"See me after class Miss Granger. It appears that your work on assignments is declining in _academia_."

She swallowed; her occlumency had a mind of its own. Just why did it choose to show him? Why now?

"Hermione's work is always brilliant!" Ron piped up to Harry, "Just what's the grimy git's problem?"

Hermione desperately shushed him through her flushed complexion. She didn't know what awaited her, but she didn't want it to be anything more threatening.

The students piled out through the two wooden doors as Hermione lingered at her seat. Her knees were too weak to stand.

"Miss Granger." That voice. The baritone echoed in the vacant classroom. "Just _what _was that?" His tone was harsh yet not scathing. There was a bit of intrigue to it.

"Just like the Potion's Room, Sir." She tried to state calmly but her voice wavered slightly, "When you touch me, my thoughts are transferred to you through occlumency. It seems that now they are seeking you out."

"And, if I might add, escalating at a rather fast pace." Snape stated blankly.

She would have laughed, but her innermost thoughts were on display and being critiqued by the main character.

"Correct." She nodded with a blush.

He placed a hand firmly down upon her desk with a crack. Her head snapped up to look at him.

"These types of thoughts are forbidden in my classroom. Do you hear me?" He spoke strictly.

She was silent. "Yes, Professor."

"Promise me, or there will be penalties." He stared into her.

"I promise." The words fell off her tongue.

"Good." He concluded, "5 points from Gryffindor for your lewd behavior. Now go."

She had made a pact, but could she really control her mind? Not if things kept up the way they did, Hermione thought as she hurriedly exited the classroom.

The encounter had left Snape feeling rather lewd himself. In an odd way, it was a welcome distraction from the woes of Draco and the Dark Lord. Every time that the girl had thrown some sort of disruption his way it was like a form of improper entertainment. It was as if he could step out of his role and into one more suiting, the man he had played in Hermione's daydreams. What was that man like, he wondered. Was he just the figment of her imagination or could it truly be Severus Snape as he was but could never justly be in reality? That Snape was domineering, strong and out to get what he wanted without a care to other parties involved, although he noted little to no resistance of Hermione's character. Snape stopped pacing and came upon a thought. If that was truly Hermione and not a fabrication of the girl's imagination, she _wanted _him. Not in the playful, sappy, teenage crush kind of way. No, he could feel the desire emanating off of that character like heat from a radiator. He stopped and pictured the true Hermione Granger for a second. He would be unsure of how to respond to the depth of her feelings. Should it be true, he couldn't be happy accepting a young witch as a possibility in partnership. On the other hand, could he be happy letting her go without ever truly experiencing that level of desire? He paused then put an end to his deliberation as he recalled that death followed him around like a shadow. He was in no position to be contemplating a future, especially one with hope. He then vowed the same pact as Hermione; those thoughts were forbidden in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.


	18. Chapter 17

It wasn't like the man felt nothing, even if he had been trained to. The guilt of placing one of his students in such promiscuous circumstances often pricked at him from the inside. That's why he avoided any awkward interaction and attempted to establish himself as Professor whenever he could. Although he knew that she knew as a good student. She would never tell a soul, even if he were wicked. And that fact made his stomach turn even more. He tried to remind himself that the girl's Gryffindor actions were the catalyst to this whole situation. His mind didn't have much time to wander on that subject due to the unbreakable vow that he had made which was now approaching completion. Dumbledore knew of it. The old wizard even supported the effort, stating that his death must not fail. Snape often thought that if he had been afforded the same easy escape he would have accepted as quickly and confidently as Dumbledore had. The only escape Severus had now came with the Granger girl.

It was a grey afternoon in February. As Snape stepped down the hallway, many first years squealed and others fled towards the large glass windows for safety. Even if he did hate the ingrates, one good thing about his job and reputation was that no one would bother him. Except for her. Come to mention it, there were a lot of red boxes out and people stuffing their faces with sweets. The whole air of the castle was making him sick. It must have been Valentine's Day.

Snape was seeking something to block out the visions of students snogging in the corner, there were spells to make them invisible didn't they know? As he searched his mind, the imagery that Hermione's occlumency displayed itself. It _was_ quite the pretty picture. Is that what she did in her spare time? Nuzzle up in the Gryffindor tower on her four-poster bed, pull back the curtains, cast a mufflatio and dream up notions about the two of them? He swallowed as thoughts came to his mind. What would she wear, pajamas or her day clothes? Would she close her eyes or keep them open? Would she touch herself? Did she know how, could she bring herself to the brink of pleasure? Did he have to teach her-

An arm collided into his with a sudden shock. Suddenly, books and parchment were sprawled out on the corridor floor. As he looked into Hermione's wide auburn eyes Snape knew that something was off; she wasn't apologizing or bending to pick up her secondary spell literature, she was just staring at him, searching him with disbelief.

"Miss Granger, you should only carry the amount of books that won't impede your vision." He tried to be scathing.

The sides of her mouth were upturning, and the gears in her mind were turning. What was this?

"I saw." She whispered.

"Saw what, Miss Granger? Speak up." A crowd was gathering, although be it far off due to fear of Snape's aura.

"_Occlumency_, Professor." She stately in an even and calm tone, "I was just working on the defense against _occlumency_ paper you had assigned. It should be on your desk by this evening."

No, that couldn't-

This had to be sorted out.

"By no later than 21:00, or your house will have you to blame for points deducted."

"Yes, sir."

Snape turned on his heel, walking away from the glaring eyes. He hoped that the insufferable flock hadn't seen the warmth now spreading through his upper body.

He later saw her again that day in D.A.D.A. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Weasley boy mumbling something and handing over a box wrapped in newspaper. What could he possibly have to give her? And he wasn't only thinking presents. The boy often irritated her and Snape could see it. Now, she had a silly grin and a blush spreading on her cheeks. Weasley had a really stupid look on his face. Potter also leaned over to join the fun and handed her one of his many chocolates, from secret admirers he was sure. There was something growing in the pit of his stomach that he thought he had strangled many years ago.

A knock came at his chamber door ten minutes before his prescribed time. It was a good thing that he had potions to cure anxiety, because without them this moment would be a lot harder.

"Come." He stated.

He was expecting her to have done something stupid like dress up or put on muggle makeup to impress him for their meeting. But no, it was simply Hermione Granger. He didn't know if it was for the better or for the worse the way she naturally shone from behind those tangled locks.

Snape cast a spell to lock the door behind her and keep their conversation from prying ears. He wanted to get straight to the heart of the matter. "What did you see?"

Hermione had prepared herself for this. "You were teaching me."

"Is that all?" He tried not to give into the relief edging at him.

"In my bedroom." All he could see were her cherry lips when she spoke those words. The image looped in his mind as he struggled to come up with a Snape-like retort.

"Are you certain?" Was all that he could manage.

"Absolutely. It's vivid in my mind." She was resisting a smile. At least she was trying to maintain her role.

"It appears that now my occlumency can jump to you as well." Snape divulged. There was no use outwitting teenagers in this matter.

"There's something else that I've noticed, Professor." She stated.

"And what is that?" This was remotely peculiar.

"The occlumency jump results from thoughts of passion."


	19. Chapter 18

Snape was about to cruelly shun her away from any sentiment of passions between them when a Ravenclaw girl burst into his dungeon.

"Hermione, Ron's in trouble!" She looked much like a bird, flailing her arms and squawking. The sorting hat wasn't wrong.

Snape did not see Hermione glance back for approval before she ran blindly into the halls. Left feeling a bit perturbed, he waved the high strung Ravenclaw off and came back to his thoughts. What did she have to worry for? Shouldn't she be thankful that the red head and the boy-who-lived hadn't allowed her to suffer the consequences of their latest venture as well?

He gathered his cloak and recomposed his steely aura before entering the halls. He should be present to see just what the boy had gotten himself into, after all.

He looked on amidst his colleagues as explanation fell from their lips about the pale, bedridden boy. He looked as if he had swallowed something worse than a bezoar. It wasn't too much longer before he discovered his assessment to be correct. At least Potter had retained some information in that lofty skull.

Suddenly, another girl with her knickers in a twist had entered the hospital wing. Quite the busy day for hormones, he noted. He paid little attention to her banter, but his ear seemed trained to hone in on Hermione's responses.

"I happen to be his friend."

Why did he feel a sense of both relief and tension at that statement?

"I've always found him- interesting."

She looked away after that comment. Perhaps because the girl was struggling to come up with the appropriate adjective when placed on the spot? What was she arguing for, anyway?

Snape admired how Hermione coolly stood her ground, but he couldn't get his stomach to offer the same respect as his mind.

Out of the darkness, the word 'Hermione' had feebly fallen from Weasley's chapped lips. And that was all it took for her to sit at his bedside, an unyielding grip on his hand.

Friendship had never been something that Snape had a firm concept of. When he saw the two teenagers, he thought back to what he would do if it were Lily. He would have done the same, but then again, that wasn't friendship. That was something deeper that brought him to sell his soul to the Dark Lord and Dumbeldore out of retribution, out of something he liked to believe was love. The only fruit to drop from the barren tree of his heart. Much like a photograph, it was easy to distinguish in those days, but yellow and faded as of late. Fraying at the edges and becoming lost in translation. Applying that infantile feeling to what he was seeing now was driving his insides to slowly cannibalize themselves.

"Oh to be young and feel loves keen sting."

Had Dumbeldore noticed his discomfort? Was he trying to offer assistance or twisting the knife at uncovering any thoughts besides those which were binding his soul to Hogwarts and eternal servitude at the old wizard's feet?

"Let us go, Mr. Weasley is well cared for."

Snape had decided; it was both. With a turn of his heal, he offered Hermione the same kindness she had afforded him. He did not look back. He would not. He could not, not now, with his unbreakable vow and fate sealed.

Hermione slid her hand on top of Ron's. "Oh shut up." She whispered to Harry, who soon exited along with the others. She was left alone with her freckled friend.

She had always been poised to win, to be the best at everything if she could, which left her conflicted as she sat. Was that show between her and Lavender only about her pride? Had she truly won anything? Sure, she used to like Ron. And yes, she could admit now that she was a tad jealous of the constant attention Lavender was getting. Yet, she was also a bit nauseated by the thought of the boy making out with anyone. It was in fact a love between them but, she knew now, it was a sibling love. The strong type that develops over years of childhood memories and time spent in the Gryffindor tower, in Hagrid's hut bonding. It was the same love that she had for Harry. It was equal, neither had more than the other.

There was one other reason why her heart couldn't go in that direction, the mysterious master who lurked in the castle dungeons, and the one who had taught her harshly and left her lusting for more. She felt the clammy hand slip from her fingers onto the white linen as the realization washed over her. Her Professor had been watching the whole time, hadn't he? What would he think of her now? Her eyes swept back and forth as she analyzed her actions. Typical Gryffindor teenager was what they spoke of. Perhaps even a romantically ignorant defense of love. And in her intellect and interactions, she could gather that Professor Snape could not distinguish between a love among friends and something more. Hell, she was finding it hard to distinguish herself.

What could she do now? Her effort had been coming in waves to erode the barrier around his heart and mind. And yet, she could feel with every tick of the clock how he was rebuilding the longstanding walls, stone by stone. She looked sorrowfully back down at her sick friend. He was becoming a blur before her eyes. A hot tear colored the fabric a shade darker as she leaned over to pull his limp frame into an embrace. "I'm sorry Ron, I'm being so selfish." Hermione choked into his clavicle. At least he would let her hug him. He was always so warm and open. But she had become inclined to dark, cramped spaces and that was exactly where she needed to go.


	20. Chapter 19

Snape returned to his quarters to put his mind towards the only thing he had ever been good at, his potions. He closed the heavy wooden doors behind him and busied himself with cauldron and flame. He knew that he would remain uninterrupted, alone with his thoughts. The portraits had long ago left their frames, much like the other residents of Hogwarts they didn't linger with the man in the dungeon.

Yet, no matter how much his hands worked, not matter how quickly he chopped and stirred, he couldn't keep his thoughts from stirring as well. He saw himself as a boy looking on at an imposed image of Lily holding Potter's hand in the infirmary, as if someone had placed a transparency over the evening's recent events. He shook his mind and pushed himself harder, attempting a concoction that had long escaped successful completion at his hands. As he flipped through his quill written notes, two girls' voices echoed and mingled in his mind. He had heard Lily's laughter, something in the pit of his stomach desired to hear what Hermione's sounded like. When was it that he acquired a talent for eliciting tears? He pulled himself back from the solution, heading towards the collection of books on mahogany shelf on the stone wall. He saw Hermione in uniform, reaching for a book in the library. Though he'd hate to admit it, he had stared far too long hoping that she would reach just far enough for her skirt to hike a little further up her thigh. He hit the table with open palms. "Enough!" He shook with frustration. "Enough." He repeated to himself more quietly, exasperated.

Before returning to the task at hand, he grasped a vile of liquid that often relaxed his nerves on long evenings such as this. He took a substantial swig and begun the crush beans with the side of his knife. Then, there was a knock on the door. "Professor?"

His hand slipped. The draft hindered coagulation, allowing crimson to flow freely and seep into the woodwork of the table. Snape cursed under his breath. What was she doing here at this time of night? He struggled to remember the healing spell. "Professor, I thought I heard something, are you alright?" The voice piqued behind the door. His heart was climbing up his throat. Perhaps if he remained silent, she would just go away.

"Professor Snape?" The silence was lasting as the blood began to leak from the cracks in his grip. "I'm coming in."

The look of horror on her face felt like a reward blossoming in his chest.

"You're bleeding!" She gasped. Her uniformed body came swiftly towards him.

He allowed her to touch his rough hands ever so briefly before pulling them out of reach.

She looked at him in confusion.

The draught was taking effect. His body felt heavy, his tongue and his mind were numbing. He felt the corner of his mouth upturn.

"Something's not right." She whispered as she caught his eyes.

"How astute of you, Granger." He spoke casually, his concerns with the mortal world slipping away with each pump of his slowing heart.

The girl grasped his bleeding hand, applying pressure and prompting him to sit in a thrown-like green velvet chair. It amused him to see her hand bathed in his crimson. "I'm a good color on you." He noted, locking eyes.

She blushed as she concentrated on the wound murmuring words of healing. "The clotting is taking too long. What happened? Was it Volde- was it Him again?" She looked worried.

"It soon will be, for me." His head lulled to look at the candle light. "But, I doubt it concerns you."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Professor, I don't understand what you mean. Is he calling? How could you say that?"

She inched his sleeve further up his arm to his elbow. The mark wasn't revealing itself. And despite the blood flow, the man didn't seem to be in any pain. "If it concerns you, it concerns me." With her hand entwined with his injured hand and the other resting on his elbow, she noticed how close she was to his face. Unlike his usual self, her Professor's eyes were examining the girl before him like a vision. Suddenly, he brought his face towards hers gently. Their lips barely brushed each other at first. Then his hands were pulling at her desperately, urging her onto his lap, searching her hair and grasping her thighs. His tongue sought hers and she could taste the mugwort on his hot breath.

She immediately knew this was wrong. He was in the wrong state of mind. "Professor!" She called as his lips were trailing her throat to her clavicle. "This isn't like you!"

He stopped and glanced up at her. "This is what teenagers want, isn't it?"

Anger flared in her, but she wouldn't let her pride get the best of her. Not after her selfish showdown with Lavender earlier. The man was ill, she urged herself to remain calm. She kept her mouth shut as she tried to remove herself from the warmth of his lap.

He held her fast. "Then, what if this is what _I_ want?"

All other sensations within her stopped at this comment. Her mind struggled to restart calculating. Even if his eyes were sincere, this man had been drugged.

She coughed as she got up to distract him. "What exactly _were_ you working on over here?"

He remained seated, observing the work table. "A potion that has never been made. Will never be made." He sounded bored.

She observed the pages of notes, some sun bleached and several years old, others had been written minutes ago. This was some long term project Snape had invested in. She noted the ingredients and layout of the table. There were no books to research from, was he constructing from scratch?

"What exactly, is this?" Her inquisitiveness was building.

Before she knew it, his dark figure was towering behind her. He brought his face close to her ear and murmured the words that brought her back to first year and darkened her soul, "Something that could even put a _stopper_ in death."


	21. Chapter 20

She glanced around the potions room at the viles, some of the contents eyeing her back through pin-sized red eyes. "Aren't Spigons," Hermione took a nervous breath, "illegal?"

He eyed her humming body, "You're the one with all the answers, Miss Granger." He leaned in, "Are they?"

She took a step back to take his dark form in. "Yes, they are." She spoke confidently.

"And Trutgumper?" He gestured to a purplish plant, oozing with sheen. "How about Spiked Emlin?" Beneath his gaze was a rotten root, speckled with thorns. All were kept under lock and key.

Although she tried to suppress it, her intake of breath was sharp. "Most of these would cause a fate worse than death, rather than stop it!"

He stared at her vacantly for a second before breaking into a low laugh.

"One must understand the layout of the passage through hell, before taking the detour. These materials each have qualities replicating a different aspect of the philosopher's stone."

He held up a tightly sealed container. Observing the minuscule Spigons spinning their poisonous web, he recalled the day he began this journey.

Images of a young Lily on the swing set, the first day her neck was wrapped in a Gryffindor scarf, her hand on his back in acknowledgement of his correction of the previous potion's master, her rare glowing smile; only gracing her face with Potter. Somehow, he was suddenly cradling her lifeless body as the green flame in her eyes extinguished. That was the last day he felt tears on his face, the day that he first contemplated traveling on the river Styx to retrieve her soul. But how could she return as whole as she had been? Even the most skilled alchemists could only reanimate the body, but not the soul. That magic had long since been deemed an impossible taboo. He fell deeper and deeper into the dark arts hoping to find the key.

Each day his resolve grew, taking the place that had once held self respect. And then, there was Dumbeldore, preaching remembrance over reanimation. He could go alone with it. Truthfully, he was no longer loyal to either side. He had grown to be a master of puppetering in addition to potions. However, with his security as a Professor, he could continue his work, carrying the dark knowledge from the other side of the realm. That was, as long as Potter was provided for. Not the dead man; this was the one who had stolen Lily's emerald eyes.

Out of the darkness, he noted a pair of auburn eyes that held concern. He had been working so hard for so long, did he still wish for the same thing?

Hermione's hand was steady on his cheek. "…sor. Look at me, Professor." Her voice broke through the fog. He had been in a trance for several minutes. The potion he had taken was to numb the pain and susceptibility as he worked on the accursed project. It fueled itself on memories, eliciting any drive that was left in Severus Snape. It would keep him working even if he were running on empty. Come to think of it, the potion was much like Albus. It was meant to hone Snape's focus on his desired end goal, but this girl was messing with the cogs in the machinery.

"What on Earth?" Her voice trailed off.

Snape recalled her hands prying desperately, caringly, upon the Weasley boy only moments ago.

He swatted her away.

She became silent, retracting her hand and holding it firmly in the other. "Who are you trying to save? Because it most certainly is not you."

"Astute, as always." His voice was a steady vibrato. "According to Professor Dumbledore, it is meant for someone you hold rather dear."

"You don't mean Harry?" She squeaked. She earnestly examined his face. "There is no way that you would put yourself in such danger for someone whom you torment on a daily basis."

A heat was rising within him, "Do you claim to know me, _child_?" His robes flowed as he strode forward, crimson still falling from his grasp. "Are you attempting to empathize with each stroke of fate that has brought me to this point? Do not degrade me with your pity." He stood his ground. "In all of your seventeen years on this planet, have you reached ultimate wisdom?" His scathing increased, "Or perhaps you entered Hogwarts with your hand waving because you already _had_."

The feeling of the slap to his cheek was fleeting, leaving a tingling sensation.

"I claim nothing. For all the books I've read, I am _never_ far enough up to speed in the workings of this world." She divulged, peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

He put a large, chapped hand to the stinging spot, as if to note that he were awake.

"That is specifically why you are my Professor." She continued, "Inform me, so that I can shed this ugly skin of juvenile ignorance that you seem so desperate to associate with me."

Both stared at one another, their breathing slightly heavy in the silent air, due to the battle of wills.

Snape turned back towards his parchment. "…I wish how you could see," he begun, unsure of the short walk off a steep cliff that he was taking, "that there was a world out there before Harry Potter ever existed."

She noted his voice trailing into that exotic place. Coming from the Muggle world, of course she had a notion of what it was like to live without a 'chosen one'. And yet, that was not the sentiment that Snape was trying to divulge. Her stomach felt like it was scooped out as she recalled the flower pressed between the pages of his book, permanently chaining what could have been a great man into the shoes of his former self.

She held onto her arms for assurance. "Are you still," she stalled, "chasing ghosts?"

He picked up a quill and busied himself with formulas. "Perhaps I am one."

There was a burning on his wrist that reinforced his line of thought. He fought the growing impatience, "I can't recall the last time that I had a life of my own." He stood up, preparing to address whatever folly Draco had gotten himself into.

"If you'll excuse me, Miss Granger, I have some pertinent business to attend to." With that, he was moving towards the chamber door.

"Wait-" She requested as she grabbed at his dark blue sleeve.

The resulting movement of fabric revealed marks like rug burns indented around his wrist. They were moving, tying tighter.

He made a motion to retrieve his clothing and cover the spot. Yet his effort was in vain.

"…the unbreakable vow…" Hermione uttered.


	22. Chapter 21

"Why on Earth?" She sputtered as her mind reeled. She watched as Snape raised an eyebrow in mockery, "_Who_ would-?" She corrected.

"A more apropos line of questioning." His voice sent a delicious shudder through her. Or was it the Spigons?

"I thought that pact was outlawed…"

"It lives on in certain _circles_."

"Does it have something to do with the potion? Is it for, well… Lord Vold-" Snape's rough hand encompassed her lips with ease.

"You shall _not_ speak his name." He asserted as he revealed the dark mark, now writhing on his forearm. Her eyes moved over the black, seemingly liquid, boldness of it back up to his urgent eyes. "Seek reason. Why would he form a pact with me when he has this hold on my soul already?" She slowly nodded, feeling his hand move with her and remove itself at the same careful speed.

She saw his eyes linger on the place where his hand was, and in that second he seemed to memorize everything she had to offer. His gaze shifted to rolling his sleeve back over his porcelain skin.

Her hand stopped the process. "You don't have to hide it," She suddenly felt embarrassed at her brashness, "from me, Sir."

"Foolish girl." He ticked in his dark humor. "I myself do not like to look upon it." He smirked. "Not everything is about you."

She huffed and a bit of hair flew out of her face. "Please, at least give me a hint to what's going on here." She pleaded she he turned for the door. "Or, so help me, I _will _badger it out of you."

For a moment he looked afraid. Which to tell her? Was it the pact or potion that was the lesser of evils? "But, _in a way_, this potion is related to Hogwarts' star pupil."

She felt a bitter pride at his statement. "_What_? It can't be meant for me." He could see the gears turning behind her eyes. It was a favorite pastime of his during testing sessions. "Then it must be…" She inhaled sharply, "Harry! Is something going to happen to him?" Her hands pressed to his robes. "Is he in danger?"

"Always." Snape drawled with a bitterness of his own.

She did not catch his wit and continued to cling to him, "What's going to happen? Do you know something? Is he going to… _die_?" Her voice hitched as he eyes grew red and desperate.

He'd seen that desperation mirrored in so many of the faces that had fallen before him, before the Death Eaters. Pleading for answers, for comfort that would never come before the life was snuffed out of their eyes forever.

He convinced himself it was some act of contrition to put the girl at ease. He reached out to grasp her curls and bring her head to his chest in some form of a protective embrace. He was quite unpracticed, he'd hoped she couldn't tell. "Be calm." He wasn't sure if he was asserting to her or himself.

She took a deep breath as her fear and confusion became a blank slate upon inhaling his sent. Parchment, smoke, and various herbs of sophistication. Him. It was him. And there was nothing that would ever compare. The broadness of his chest surprised her, along with the sound of his blood coursing through his aorta behind the comforting dark fabric of his robes. It was not as thick or scratchy as she guessed it might be. She suddenly felt his hand smoothing down her mountainous locks. And she looked up at him cautiously, questioning.

His look was the same as hers. They shared an infinite moment pondering the various futures that could occur in the next few moments before he spoke again, "Are you steady now, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed. "I'm not sure anymore."

"Neither am I." His voice changed in a way she could not name. He took a step back from her. "Let us say that your _homework_ is to adjust to that new normal. Let my words sink in and find an answer for yourself. Now if you please."

She could see his fist clenching and unclenching on the hand where the vow was woven… He had something to fulfill. Fine. If he was going to be a Slytherin about it, then so was she. She stepped back and he looked at her in passing curiosity as he strode by.

She cast a Mufflatio on herself after he exited the door. She had already placed a tracking spell on his cloak when they were touching. She was going to find out the definition of what exactly her new normal was.

Her wand was heating up as she approached her professor's voice in a secluded corridor, late in the evening. There was another voice sharply grating against his rigid tone. She would recognize that arrogance anywhere. Malfoy. They had always seemed to be in sync and now they were arguing? Wait… Weren't they related in some way? Yes, she had heard the boy bragging that Snape was his Godfather. For a second she wished that Severus had been placed into Hufflepuff all those many years ago.

Her back pressed against the clammy stone as she struggled to make out their words. She heard Snape urging about a 'task'. Malfoy was inciting that Snape 'bugger off' and let him deal with things his way. Sending Malfoy to complete a task… That had to be the unbreakable vow. And what would happen if he didn't do as asked? It seemed simple enough. Then again, it had to be something awful to seek Snape as assurance. The vow seemed to be physically constricting her professor's arm, would it cut off his hand, or even worse? She would be spending some late nights in the library again.

Suddenly there was a hush over the hallway as the soles of feet catching gravel on the stone floor. One of them was walking off in a mood in the opposite direction, while the other would certainly be heading her way. "_Fudge_." She cursed under her breath. She hadn't even heard what the task was about. Was it even worth it? Could her Gryffindor conscious handle it if she wasn't found out? Oh, she wished that she had the forethought to take Harry's invisibility cloak.

She pressed herself against the wall, straining to blend in, knowing that any verbal spells would certainly get her noticed.

"_Granger_." She heard from behind her tightly closed eyes. Oh dear. Was this really the lesser of the two evils? She heard him cast the Notice-Me-Not spell.

Her eyes fluttered open, feigning ignorance.

His hands slammed the wall on each side of her, pinning her in place. "If you really are the brightest witch of your age, did you think I wouldn't notice your _juvenile_ tracking spell?"

She swallowed. "I apologize... I only sought understanding."

"How _much_ did you hear?" He prodded.

Her voice was meek, "Draco's task…"

"_Did you hear it_?!" Snape spoke through his teeth. Merlin, it sounded painful. It had to be dreadful.

"No." Her eyes searched his for understanding.

His knees seemed to buckle under him in thanks. He sank to the ground and she sank with him. His breathing was fast and shallow.

"Professor…" She pleaded, sensing his agony. "Severus…" She soothed.

"Make it stop." He asked no one. "I can't… Make it all go away."

His face was a void of despair that she could no longer stand. Hermione knelt on the granite floor as her hands softly cupped her teacher's face, although he wasn't home. Her kiss began slowly and gently, as if breathing life into him. He tilted his head upwards in response. She traced her tongue on the corners of his mouth, begging for the entry he allowed her. She tasted him hungrily, giving him every ounce of warmth that she had to bring him back from the brink. And his night gave into her day. He responded in earnest, searching her insides and abandoning the inhibition that gave him nothing but pain. She moaned at his onslaught as he pressed her against the wall, feeling her down to her hips, grasping them as if they were an anchor to the earth. Her mouth was water after a drought, and he was the only one allowed access. He noticed her hands as well, inexperienced, drawing a map of him within her mind. Without warning, they dipped below his belt. Undoubtedly, they could both feel what swelled there. He groaned at the touch he hadn't felt in so long yet wanted so desperately. This awoke him from his trance. After all these barren years, here he was, as hard as the floor they knelt upon.

He swiftly grasped her hand and held it in his as he struggled to regain control of his head. For what reason he couldn't recall. "Hermione." His voice was thick as she answered him with swollen lips and inquiring eyes. "I don't want you to hate me." She shook her head, but he continued. "I was wrong. You can't do this alone. Perhaps neither can I… anymore. Before we go any further, I need you to know how the end of this school year will be the end of your youth, and the Wizarding World as we know it."


	23. Chapter 22

"_Dumbledore is going to die_…" Hermione echoed her professor's words, now safe within the confines of his dungeon.

"The man's already on death's door. He has been for a while now. He's been seeking pieces of the Dark Lord's soul in an effort to destroy him. He must have truly been the old fool that he claims to be to make such a fatal mistake."

"He's _dying_." Hermione looked up at him from under furrowed brows, tears falling freely down her hot cheeks.

Of course, he had forgotten that death was not a daily occurrence in the young girl's life. Whatever _relationship_ (he hated the word) it was that they were developing the recent developments between them made him desire it to be a positive one. The trouble was that he had absolutely no role models for what exactly a healthy relationship should be, be it friends or… "Be strong." He held on to his teaching construct as he gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. She was soft like a peony. "I will ensure that Dumbledore will not suffer."

"No…" She shook her head and more tears fell. It was remarkable that she could produce so many when it seemed he had none left to give. "He wants _you_ to be the one to do it?" She squeaked. "Shouldn't it be Draco? Isn't that his task? What will **_he_** do when he finds out that his puppets aren't behaving the way that they should be?!"

Now it seemed the girl was starting to grasp the Dark Arts. _She could have been a Slytherin yet_, he thought with a certain pride. "The Dark Lord desires an outcome overall. And he shall get what he's after. I assure you he's envisioned all possibilities. In fact, I'm certain that he sent Bellatrix in search of her sister to fetch me."

"That _snake_." She spat.

"He'd find that quite complimentary." Snape struggled against the odd humor he found in all of this. Perhaps he was going mad after so many Crucios. Maybe it was because he was finally getting an outside perspective.

"Everyone will think that you're the scum of the Earth." Hermione worriedly mused as her hands balled her robes into fists.

He placed his forefinger and thumb to her chin. "Will you, Hermione Granger?"

"_Never_." Her eyes were fierce like the lioness she was.

Severus reveled, but continued on. "Harry Potter will. Ronald Weasley will. But you must continue on as I have." He was stolid. "They must. Not. Know."

"Why?" Hermione was breathless.

Snape took a moment to formulate his response, relating back to his youth. "Young men need to be driven to accomplish great feats. The death of a man that they idolize at the hands of a man they have always abhorred will only reinforce their goals of defeating the Death Eaters. If they start questioning their perception of me now, they will stop to analyze the humanity of _all_ the members of the Death Eaters, perhaps even the Dark Lord himself. Heroes and villains must be clear in this fight." He took a breath. "Aside from those matters, after this year I will have only dark forces on my side. If the boys should know the truth, they will go spouting it from the tallest tower and I'll be dead within the day."

Hermione chewed her lower lip as she examined her thoughts. She was going to have to be a spy of sorts as well- amidst her greatest friends. It was all for the survival of the man before her, the one who was now baring his soul. "Do you trust me? Are you convinced that I could keep this secret under curse and torture?" Hermione was overwhelmed at the bleak future that stared back at her.

He was silent for a moment. "We have seen short glimpses of what lies inside each other's minds. But what I have seen there, and over the years, assures me that you are the only one in this castle that I _can_ trust."

Hermione grasped his hands and swore over and over again. "I promise." She gulped. "I promise!"

He imparted a brief kiss to her lips and she returned it with fervor. He smiled sorrowfully. "It will be a hard time for the both of us after this year. And I am certain we are not likely to come into contact again."

Her heart dropped. Perhaps arithmancy or having a proper divination teacher could help her obscure future come to light. There had to be a book that held the answers somewhere…

He noted her response. He tried to ignite the fire inside them once more. "Luckily for both of us, your mistaken love potion that inspired this mess has initiated the development of an occlumency jump."

"What?" Hermione was pulled out of her problem solving. Then she recalled their odd transfers of thought. "You mean you figured out why that happened?"

"You may have noticed that the best way to create a potion isn't written in a book." He knew she had been looking over his writing as the Half-Blood Prince.

She huffed as she acknowledged his statement. "Go on."

"Many do not know this, but the feeling and thoughts you are concentrating on are as important as the ingredients that go in to a brew. That's why Longbottom's never been successful; he's too focused on screwing it up. And you, my dear Hermione, were searching for a way to talk to me."

"What?" Hermione felt the innocent student inside of her jump.

"You may not have acknowledged it, but when you were working on that potion, you were thinking about my coursework and you wanted to be able to communicate with me."

"P-perhaps." She stammered.

Severus smirked. "Be it for guidance or… other reasons… you created a potion that would initiate a pathway between our minds."

"Really?" She was awestruck.

"It was only when you unapologetically put your lips on mine that the door to the pathway was settled as passion, or as the other ingredients in the potion may deem it, love."

Hermione blushed. "Love…" She repeated.

"Now don't go getting all doey-eyed on me, the effect of that aspect of the potion is as fleeting as those the Weasley boys annoyingly developed. But, this link between us has been open and fostered for some time."

"So… Are you saying we can communicate telepathically?"

"We already have inadvertently. Now give it a try with the direct approach. Think of something you're passionate about to open the door and send a message. Let's start with images and then we can try adding words."

She felt butterflies in her stomach, "Do you want me to go first?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He smirked.

She closed her eyes and tried to envision. Perhaps it didn't need to be passion in the romantic sense. She had to try all the options. She imagined a world where Muggles and Magical beings were able to speak freely to one another without fear. Then she felt herself pushing that thought into Snape's direction.

"An admirable image." Snape's low voice appreciated. "And I see that you have determined that passion does not come in only one form. Now remember, passion need only open the door. It need not be the message."

She could feel a warm thought enter her mind, soon she saw an open meadow where the flowers were dancing with a soft wind. "Where is that?" She cooed.

"A place that exists, for now, only in our minds." He took her hand as she opened her eyes. "This is our weapon against the dark, Hermione. And we must sharpen everything in our arsenal to win this fight."


	24. Chapter 23

It was a new day, but the sun did not seem to rise anymore. The clouds hung over the castle like the shroud of the inevitable funeral. Snape sat at the head table watching the trio with a detached expression. Potter stood up and was heading toward the door. Hermione had somehow felt his eyes, sending an image of the cursed necklace in his direction… _So the boy was in search of a culprit_. Of course Draco wasn't doing himself any favors. The stock that he came from had always been more proud than surreptitious. These days Draco appeared neither. It was hard to see his grandson reduced to less than a former image of himself. He knew the demons that he was dealing with, but the stubborn fool wouldn't let him in. Perhaps he still kept his pride after all. Maybe he was making up for what his father had lost. No, it wouldn't be long now before this act would come to a close. Hermione flashed her worried eyes towards him for a moment. He looked down at his plate and sent her an image of himself following the boys. This appeared to soothe her fears, as she returned to her food.

His cloak followed his long strides down the corridor towards the male bathroom. The tingling in his wrist was increasing again, tearing at him like thorns… Death was encroaching upon his charge and himself. Snape quickened his pace expecting to see Potter with a dagger in his hand as he opened the double doors. What peered back at him, was in fact more shocking. It was the aftermath of his Sectumsempra. Had the boy been arrogant enough to use such a dangerous spell without knowing what followed? More to the point, it could have been a spell of his own design that could have cost him his life. He fought back the shivering feeling that crept up on him like an old friend. He looked down at the bloody body- and all that he could see when he looked up again was that self-justified prick, James, reflected in Harry's mother's eyes. He was backing away into the shadows, _yes Potter, we all slink there sometimes_.

"Do you know what I think, Potter?" said Snape, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"

"I – I don't agree, sir," said Harry, still refusing to look into Snape's eyes. His green orbs were still fixed on his unexpected consequences.

"Well, we shall see how you feel after your detentions," said Snape. "Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But, sir ..." said Harry, looking up desperately, uncertain of how to persuade the man who was never on his side in appearance.

"Ten o'clock."' whispered Snape. "Now _GO_ before you cause any more damage."

Snape murmured the incantation to halt and heal the spreading cuts. His words intermingled with the sound of water cascading on the crimson tile. As Draco was catching his breath, words poured from of his pale lips. "I can't…"

Snape continued his healing until the results were satisfactory. "For me," he seethed, "I wish that were an option. I will clean up your mess here, as usual. Head back to the dungeon, _immediately_."

Draco had a bitter, hurt look on his face. The boy seemed to have grown ten years over night, but he was still far too young to tango with Snape. He knew the time alone would cause him to strengthen his resolve. Good. It would make him look better in the eyes of their enemy and master.

His mind played one of Dumbledore's pep talks, they had them so often these days. _"You must be the one to do it," the old man urged on, "only then will the Dark Lord trust you completely." _One could assume he was determined to maintain the innocence of his students. What the hell was he then? After youth were you only of use as a tool? Had it never occurred that he was only human and not some automaton expected of performing actions without falter or pain? Ever faithful like a dog? Was it expected that affection from someone, anyone- especially a bright and beautiful young witch, would not awake him from the eternal slumber he was to face? That was, if he wasn't enduring it already. Dumbledore was a cruel man. Almost as cruel and blind as the monster he fought against. He hated to admit it, but recent developments determined Potter a pawn as well. He felt the distant sting of empathy; and somewhere in the blackest pit that he hated, a smug satisfaction. The old man, the boy's hero, knew a part of Voldemort lived inside of him. An accidental horcrux. This meant when the time came, the boy must die. Just like Lily. And all of his endeavors were all the more worthless.

_"__You've been raising him like a pig for slaughter." Snape spat._

Then Dumbledore had the gall to ask him about loyalty. _Him _of all people.

When he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a better time, he somehow found himself thinking of sensations from not so long ago. Her curly hair, her velvet face, her laughter in class like a bell, her indignant face when the potion did not turn out the way the book said it should, her fascination at revelations in their conversations. _Oh,_ the thoughts that she had shared and _desired_ to make a reality. Her doe eyes persistently peering up at him from behind worn out pages.

For a moment he was afraid. _"Expecto patronum!"_ He shouted as the familiar figure leapt about the tower. His patronus, like Hermione's eyes, remained a doe. Although Dumbledore could see no difference, Snape could feel it as soon as it exited his wand. This was no longer a mimic of Lily's, but made of happy thoughts all of his own. Real, and unimagined as they had been before. Yes, he loved Lily. He still did, he always would. _"Always."_ He murmured. But that was an unrequited love. But the way that this felt now was like feeling the sun from both sides… He still had some revelations to make of his own.

xxx

Again it was time for D.A.D.A. Snape had to admit, it was a nice change of pace to be able to hurl spells at students; it dealt more of a blow than words alone. Hermione's form was taking nicely, he noted as he watched her skirt sway backward as she arched and cast a wordless spell at Miss Brown. Was she mirroring his own? The chubby girl flew backward and landed in a heap. There still appeared to be some _tension_ there… Although, notably, it was only on the opposing end. However, he could use this to his advantage.

"Miss Granger." He announced thickly, only to see her hazel eyes look to him as if she were caught in headlights. The class stalled as expected. "Using wordless magic is not the objective of this lesson, and as such, Miss Brown was clearly unprepared for your assault."

"Sir, I was only trying to-"

"It appears you would like to scrub cauldrons after Potter here has finished sweeping the classroom with his Nimbus this Saturday."

He noted the angry look from the chosen one, thankful for nothing more.

"I…"

"That was not a question." Snape snarled, "Back to work, all of you."

Again the class was ablaze with lights and sounds. In the midst of the chaos, he sent her the words, "_Everything is alright_."

He could see the corners of her lips perk up for a second before she performed a stunning block. Come to think of it, those were the first words they had shared mentally. He could feel the corners of his mouth move as well.

They would need more time to practice and hone their skills before they were to separate… The time would come but he would be ready. He chose to live moment to moment as he had since the war had begun. He never knew if tomorrow would show its face. He never cared. That was, until now.


End file.
